The first draft blues
Last week I published an ambitious story I’m really proud of. This week I’m back in the psychological trenches, practically stapling myself to my chair to wrench a first draft of my next feature out of my head and onto the page. I like that about my job, the fact that there’s always the next story to write and something new to learn. But when you go from the highs of publishing a good story to the lows of writing a bad version of your next one in the span of a few days, the whiplash can be a little depressing. I know that eventually this next story will be just as good. I also know that it has to pass through many versions to get there, and this first one is destined to be the worst of them.
It’s hard to make something out of nothing, whatever kind of creative work you’re doing. Once I interviewed an artist who taught elephants to paint, to give them a new job after Thailand outlawed the logging industry they used to work in. A lot of elephants took to painting right away, but the artist said that some of them would pick up the brush, dip it in the paint, and back away, terrified, as soon as she put the white paper in front of them. The dangers of anthropomorphism blah blah blah, but I can really relate to those elephants, confronting the void at the heart of all creativity and deciding they would rather not.
I take a lot of comfort in that story, just like I take comfort in the endless journalist-Twitter whining about how much writing sucks. But I also don’t want to give into it too much. Because it turns out…I actually like writing. The part I hate is the first ten minutes of writing, when I’d rather be doing anything else than sitting there barfing up sentences that don’t make sense. But once I get into the flow, it’s not so bad. It’s pretty fun, actually, seeing how the pieces start to fit together. And once there are some words written down, it’s a lot easier to jump that first-ten-minute hurdle and get back into it the next time. Pretending the hurdle doesn’t exist—or worse, that it shouldn’t exist—will get you nowhere and only make you feel bad about yourself. It’s real! Writing is hard! It’s not just you! But dwelling on it too much can make the hurdle feel bigger than it really is. Which is why I’m cutting off this whining here and going back to my draft. It’s due Wednesday.
Recommendations
“Death, Made in Mexico.” The drug trade in Mexico is changing by the minute, and no one writes its consequences better than my friend Kate Linthicum in the Los Angeles Times. This cross-border story about fentanyl represents people at every point along the supply and demand chain in all their complexity and humanity.
“Hypoxia City.” Martin Enserink, the editor who worked with me on my Sac Balam story, published a fantastic feature himself this week, about scientists studying chronic mountain sickness in La Rinconada, Peru. It’s the world’s highest settlement at 16,700 feet, and between the altitude, the UV radiation, and the mercury vapors released by gold mining, it’s not a healthy place to be. I guarantee it’s the best story about blood viscosity you’ve ever read, and the photos are spectacular.
Listening to musical soundtracks on planes. The best plane activity, obviously, is watching You’ve Got Mail. If that’s not an option, the second best is listening to a musical soundtrack. Hamilton is perfect for this because it’s sung-through so you don’t miss any story, but all musicals have enough catchy melodies, narrative drive, and lyrical complexity to keep you engaged. This is has been a LifeHack™