Writing takes butt muscles
If you think you’re a bad writer, you might just have bad editing stamina.
At 17, I wrote what I thought were deep, reflective essays for English class. The insightful red scribbles my teacher left at the end made me believe I had something going on. So when I was back at my parents’ place, I pulled out the folder with my old high school papers. What I found were unformed thoughts, disconnected paragraphs, and weak sentences.
I guess I wasn’t the precocious teenager I thought I was. The realization made me feel even more of an impostor in the writing scene; my teacher’s comments from 14 years ago (I know. . .) had been one of the only signs that writing was something I was supposed to be doing all along.
But when the sharpest sting had passed, another thought came to me: If I’m a mediocre writer at best, there must be some other reason why, every now and then, I manage to churn out a story that resonates with readers.
You mean luck? Well, I’m sure luck plays a major role in it, too, but this time I’m talking about something else: revising and editing.
Unlike in high school, I never stop at the first draft anymore. Or the second, or the third. In fact, I have no idea how many drafts I go through.
What I do know is how many hours I spend at the laptop typing (or staring at the page) — because I track my writing time with Clockify. While I gasp at the person who can write eight articles in an hour, others might gasp at how long it takes me to draft and edit a single story.
“My most viral piece took 45 hours to write (not counting the three months I spent researching it). I may be a mediocre writer, but I’m a relentless editor.”
My latest article — about 2,300 words — took 8 hours to write.* And that was record speed. My most viral piece took 45 hours (not counting the three months I spent researching it). I may be a mediocre writer, but I’m a relentless editor.
Of course, writing time doesn’t equal writing quality. I’m sure someone out there, with plenty of innate talent and experience, can crank out eight good articles in an hour.
But for us mortals, that’s a big ask: I need to write good stuff, and I do it fast? Expecting yourself to churn out perfect sentences right off the bat is not only stressful but also unrealistic. If all you can produce in 7.5 minutes (60 min ÷ 8 = 7.5 min) is a piece of crap, I’m here to tell you: You’re not alone.
Good things take time — time at the page, and time away from it. Write for 45 minutes. Then go to work, exercise, see your friends. Come back the next day and repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
But that’s a waste of time! you may be thinking. That’s exactly what it is. But is it such a bad thing? Consider this quote from 21 Lessons for the 21st Century by Yuval Noah Harari:
“If you want to go deeply into any subject, you need a lot of time, and in particular, you need the privilege of wasting time. You need to experiment with unproductive paths, explore dead ends, make space for doubts and boredom, and allow little seeds of insight to slowly grow and blossom. If you cannot afford to waste time, you will never find the truth.”
While most of us won’t uncover truths as deep as Harari’s, we can still embrace the art of wasting time. Who says our articles about writing, friendship, or productivity don’t deserve the same love and attention as a book about lessons for the future?
The great thing about this way of working is that you’ll know when the story is done. How? You’ll feel it. The text will flow, and you’ll enjoy reading it out loud.
Of course, editing-heavy writing may not be for everyone. I recently went out to dinner with a friend who’s writing a non-fiction book. She said she writes almost finished stuff: She drafts in her head, and when she has a clear vision for the text, she puts it down on the page. May the Force be with you.
Some people may be able to write almost entirely in their heads, like my friend. But that requires a very specific sensibility.
To find out which group you fall into, ask yourself these questions:
- Do you prefer to think in your mind or on the page?
- Does a messy first draft make you anxious or (at least a little) excited?
- Do you dislike or enjoy revising and editing?
I definitely fall into the latter group — I think on the page, get excited by the chaos of a first draft (let’s get to work, shall we?), and love editing. If I wrote the way I talk (which is exactly how my first drafts sound), no one would read my writing.
“If I wrote the way I talk (which is exactly how my first drafts sound), no one would read my writing.”
People who’ve had longer conversations with me know this: I’m very association-driven and often jump from topic to topic without first offering an intro.
Take the time when my team at Finnair had just landed in Tallinn and were on our way to the team day venue. We were sitting in a taxi right outside the airport.
Looking out at the road, I said, “I was watching Tenet on the flight — there’s a race scene that was probably filmed here.”
My manager furrowed her brows. “I was just taking a moment for myself in there, breathing in and out.”
I burst out laughing and said that I’d watched Tenet on the 14-hour flight from Shanghai two weeks earlier — not the 20-minute Helsinki–Tallinn flight we’d just taken.
I edit because I don’t want my readers to feel like my manager did in that taxi. Expecting people to read your mind — like how two things in your story connect or why you included a particular quote — may be acceptable if you’re writing for your twin. But even your twin would probably prefer a well-formed piece of writing.
“If you think you’re a bad writer, you might just have bad editing stamina.”
So sit with your thoughts (words?), and do the work for your readers: edit, edit, edit. If you think you’re a bad writer, you might just have bad editing stamina.
My high school math teacher used to say, “Mathematics takes butt muscles.”** As a hard worker — but not a math wizard — I loved that saying. It also applies to writing.
When you think your writing sucks, don’t give up just yet. Instead, tell yourself this: Writing takes butt muscles. And get to work.
Notes
*When I say I track my writing time, I’m talking about all the steps involved: drafting, revising, editing, nitpicking (or, as we say in Finnish: filing the comma).
**For any Finnish speakers out there, the original went something like, “Matematiikka vaatii perslihaksia.” (Thank you, Matti, for being such an amazing teacher of the extended math track at my arts-focused high school.)
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