Writing + Reading as Practice

Reading Deeply, Editing Slowly, and Trusting Intuition

When we're writing about ourselves, the only sources we're referring to are internal, a jewel or two plucked from their velvet cases, or plucked with dexterity from the shallows of our oceans -- a pearl moved by the moon and memory. But when we want to write on topics unknown to us, on topics that we want to know about, we must turn to external sources.

Reading online over the past few years, I've noticed a subtle decline in my ability to retain information. As such, I have returned repeatedly to physical media. Books, printed articles, magazines, zines, and more offer us opportunities to "engage the text". What does engaging a text look like?

For French critical theorist Roland Barthes¹, engaging a text meant actively transforming ourselves from a passive consumer of "text" to an active participant who questions, investigates, responds, and in some ways, revises the text. If one thinks of writing as a mode of cognition, bringing ourselves into a deeper relationship with reading means bringing ourselves closer to the mode of thinking that the writer brings to the page -- and our own. For Barthes, this means the reader engages the text in a writerly way, meaning that the one who "reads" gets to co-create the meaning of the text by engaging it deeply.

This resonates with my approach, and in my “owned” books, you will often find underlines, container lines holding paragraphs, and notes in the margin. My margin notes are in-the-moment thoughts in response to the author's thesis. I am a naturally argumentative person and enjoy the practice of contradiction purely for the possibility of revealing something new, so often my margin notes are pointed toward discovery. It is vital that if you are writing margin notes that you are being authentic. If you disagree with what an author says, disagree! If you agree, what is a complementary thought or experience you've had that highlights this attunement?

Reading & Re-reading Your Sources

As mentioned before, we are in an era of dissolving memory. We read books, sometimes compulsively, and we come away having a general sense of having liked or disliked a book. Rarely do we recall distinct passages or turns of phrase. We are lucky to remember the general arc of an author's thesis.

Generally speaking, my approach to reading and reading absorption is to read once for a general sense of a text. A second read goes much more slowly. Here, I am either making notes for the first time (especially if the first reading was a "borrowed" book) or taking my time with each sentence. I may even re-read a sentence twice or break it down into smaller components to better acknowledge what the sentence is trying to accomplish.

My third "read" is more or less a review, wherein I am going over the book’s contours and my notes. Below is an example of how this "re-reading" takes shape. First, I look for underlined sentences or passages that seem especially salient. Second, I type in my raw notes or refine them a bit. I get to ask the question about the text: What was I thinking here? Lastly, I put together a neutral "just the facts, ma'am" summary. This final chapter summary offers me the opportunity to show that I understand what has been written. Later, this summary can become a foundational piece of a longer, more in-depth work of writing.

An example of my notes organization

Mix of Intuition and Getting to Work

Over the past few months, I've been working hard to figure out what needs to change in my life to write more. I've worked with my husband to loosen up our meal planning, so that we each have two days reserved for cooking full-on meals -- the remaining days are open to grazing. This opens my evenings and allows breathing room for a writing schedule to develop. I recognize not everyone has this opportunity, and I'd be lying if I didn't acknowledge that sometimes I am bone tired after a day of creative ideation and thinking, and managing all manner of things. But writing is important to me, and if it, or another creative act, is important to you, you have to treat it and yourself with respect. Respect entails consistency and belief that time is needed to craft something worthwhile -- beautiful and human.

As outlined above, when I'm writing about topics not related to personal memory, I am in research mode. Having a structure helps me make sense of what I'm absorbing. This requires a commitment to reading, notating, and discerning the most important parts of a source. I am a person who thrives on constraints, so having a ritual I follow helps launch me into more intuitive spaces.

What does intuition look like in my writing process? Sometimes I awake with a full sentence or song in my head. In dreamland, some siren call has echoed through the canyons of my mind. A phrase, a miscalculation, will lead me towards a larger idea. Sometimes the haunting lilt of a song will take me down a road -- allowing me to unite a personal thread with the subject I'm studying. More often than not, a single phrase will gestate and fling itself into my spirit, and I'll grab it by the tail and use that as my essay's opening line. For me, writing and making is much like David Lynch² and Elizabeth Gilbert's³ theory on creativity, that one has to become an open vessel where genius can flow through. One is not a genius, but rather, one has a relationship with many geniuses that into consciousness at opportune times. Combining structure with this sort of spiritual and creative openness makes for a consistent practice.

Editing is Fun, Actually

Openness as a quality is again at the top of the list of essential characteristics for serious writers and creators. When it comes to writing, one needs to be open to the piece you're working on changing. I used to write full poems in one go, with minimal editing along the way. I loved many of these poems, but looking back on that practice now, I realize there was a certain level of injustice for the poem and the reader. These poems were rough-hewn, as was I.

Closer looks at a piece of my writing is an act of due diligence, and by doing so, I am making my writing more discernible and distinct. I am making it *sharper*. My first draft is the rough spirit or geist of the idea; editing moves the piece into a more solid, corporeal form. It is also a humbling experience -- at once an acceptance of your wild and intuitive self, but also the self that knows it is imperfect and could be better. The editing mind is one that ultimately knows that your goal is to showcase your thinking and connect with others. This is not an exercise in vanity, where we show off; it is also a conversation with others. Make your end of the conversation more coherent by editing your work.

Tools to make editing easier:

• Read your writing out loud. Does a sentence snag? Are there too many words packed into one, though? You'll hear it if you read it out loud.

• Print your work on paper. This may seem old-fashioned, but just like when you're reading a published work and you notice an error, this method will allow the same.

• Make your first editing passes quickly and take breaks. If you're editing your work at the end of the day, or you're attempting to write and then edit, give yourself space between these actions. I think that writing and editing at the same time (outside of minimal line edits) are incompatible actions and spaces. Try to do them separately.

• Read your writing from the end to the beginning. Yes, work backwards. This tricks your brain from skipping over potential errors because you're reading linearly and expecting certain flows.

As expressed earlier, writing and editing feel like two separate tasks to me. I often edit while I write, but I think this only works in some instances and inhibits the natural flow of my thoughts. When I do a round of edits, my mind is primed to look for errors and inconsistencies versus drinking my Kool-Aid (this sounds great!).

My last bit of advice is to make sure you enjoy the writing process. If you treat writing as an annoying little sister, that exhaustion will shine through. Enjoyment's definition has a lot of latitude for me: it doesn't always mean I'm blissed out and inspired. Intellectual friction is a form of fuel for me, so if you like being challenged and slipping into a state of flow, writing may be just the right spot for you. Writing is an exercise in resistance: on the page, you can free yourself, or think through the conditions of your life, you can re-hone your powers of attention and awareness to create something new. In a culture of consumption, you can resist by writing.

Now, get to it.

1. Daddy Barthes goes into more detail about this so-called “Death of the Author” in his essay of the same name.

2. Catching the Big Fish, Lynch’s book, goes more in-depth on his creative process.

3. Elizabeth’s book Big Magic is widely regarded as a deepening of the “genius outside yourself” idea.