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We writers can self-debase into oblivion. We’ll often read back over your work and all that’s seen are the flaws; typos, awkward phrasing, lazy wording. And that’s if we’re lucky to write consistently enough to critique ourselves often. There’ll be a couple of days in a row of writing using the phone, on pen and paper, even dictating notes; tenacity becomes a self-creating bliss. On others, the unnecessary expectations of self-sabotage lay at our fingertips. In those moments, compassion is our companion. In fact, compassion can be essential to building our writing habits.
Whether establishing yourself in a new career, for dabbler’s sake, or to leave a footprint in the sands of memoir, frustration can cloud our intent. From there, getting in our own way becomes easy. No one is helped when this happens. Knowing so makes us spiral. With compassion as the net we cast over the intent of our writing habits, chances to elicit extensions of hopefulness and dreaminess sprout, bringing balance and harmony. For this reason and more, compassion can be essential, and even powerful to our writing life.
Here’s a few ways to use compassion to navigate the unsatisfying and inevitable frustrations of our writing routine:
1. The best way to write with compassion is to write what you care about most, things that tug at your heartstrings and bring you to ask life’s most critical questions. When you write from a place of genuine compassion, your readers will feel it.
2. Commit to a specific time to write daily. The less we give ourselves to keep in mind, the more we’re able to lock into what we’re doing – like writing. Advance notice is a gift self-given from compassion. You’ll feel considered, prioritized, and grateful.
3. Set your setting. Choose a place to write. Somewhere that is quiet, with the fewest distractions possible. Our attention is currency, and clearing a space for our writing is a compassionate way to honor our writing practice. This might be a challenge, depending on daily demands, and require some flexibility. But combined with a thoughtful hour to write, we may find that midday in the Staff break room at work works well. Or before sunrise, our kitchen at home may prove to be perfect. If only we’d choose.
We want to be consistent with our writing schedule and with the words themselves. But when the words won’t write themselves – they never do, it just feels like it – it’s easy to forget that an endearment and compassion for the unknown/unnamed reader is often what called us to write in the first place.
When the illusion of difficulty enters, having compassionate intent in mind gets us out of our heads and pulls us near to the reader.
1. But first, ask: Who is your reader? What are their hopes, fears, and dreams? Where will you take them through your words? What do they need from us to ensure that can happen? How will they be satisfied after having read our work? Will they be entertained? Comforted? Energized? The more compassionate the intent, the more compassionate and magnetic the writing will be.
2. Remember: No piece of writing is ever perfect. There will always be room for improvement. This doesn’t mean allowing ourselves to become inattentive to the quality of our writing. It means to be compassionate with ourselves and accept that as our effort compounds, we traverse from good enough to even better. Never perfect. Compassion rejects illusions of perfection and loves betterment. So will readers.
3. Feed your writing some air. Just as our characters, plot, or prose need time to develop, so do you. Make sure to set aside some time each day for yourself. A break gives us a panoramic space to appreciate the process more. You could spend the time researching locations to better describe your scenes, or simply make some tea and text your loved ones. Either way, we allow the words, and ourselves, to settle.
By integrating compassion liberally, we sharpen our intent, produce gravity in sentences, and are enabled to deliver on our hope for readers.
Furthermore, when you encourage our fellow writers to do the same, we produce waves of compassion, rippling out to innumerable lives.
Thanks for reading.
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We writers can self-debase into oblivion. We’ll often read back over your work and all that’s seen are the flaws; typos, awkward phrasing, lazy wording. And that’s if we’re lucky to write consistently enough to critique ourselves often. There’ll be a couple of days in a row of writing using the phone, on pen and paper, even dictating notes; tenacity becomes a self-creating bliss. On others, the unnecessary expectations of self-sabotage lay at our fingertips. In those moments, compassion is our companion. In fact, compassion can be essential to building our writing habits.
Whether establishing yourself in a new career, for dabbler’s sake, or to leave a footprint in the sands of memoir, frustration can cloud our intent. From there, getting in our own way becomes easy. No one is helped when this happens. Knowing so makes us spiral. With compassion as the net we cast over the intent of our writing habits, chances to elicit extensions of hopefulness and dreaminess sprout, bringing balance and harmony. For this reason and more, compassion can be essential, and even powerful to our writing life.
Here’s a few ways to use compassion to navigate the unsatisfying and inevitable frustrations of our writing routine:
1. The best way to write with compassion is to write what you care about most, things that tug at your heartstrings and bring you to ask life’s most critical questions. When you write from a place of genuine compassion, your readers will feel it.
2. Commit to a specific time to write daily. The less we give ourselves to keep in mind, the more we’re able to lock into what we’re doing – like writing. Advance notice is a gift self-given from compassion. You’ll feel considered, prioritized, and grateful.
3. Set your setting. Choose a place to write. Somewhere that is quiet, with the fewest distractions possible. Our attention is currency, and clearing a space for our writing is a compassionate way to honor our writing practice. This might be a challenge, depending on daily demands, and require some flexibility. But combined with a thoughtful hour to write, we may find that midday in the Staff break room at work works well. Or before sunrise, our kitchen at home may prove to be perfect. If only we’d choose.
We want to be consistent with our writing schedule and with the words themselves. But when the words won’t write themselves – they never do, it just feels like it – it’s easy to forget that an endearment and compassion for the unknown/unnamed reader is often what called us to write in the first place.
When the illusion of difficulty enters, having compassionate intent in mind gets us out of our heads and pulls us near to the reader.
1. But first, ask: Who is your reader? What are their hopes, fears, and dreams? Where will you take them through your words? What do they need from us to ensure that can happen? How will they be satisfied after having read our work? Will they be entertained? Comforted? Energized? The more compassionate the intent, the more compassionate and magnetic the writing will be.
2. Remember: No piece of writing is ever perfect. There will always be room for improvement. This doesn’t mean allowing ourselves to become inattentive to the quality of our writing. It means to be compassionate with ourselves and accept that as our effort compounds, we traverse from good enough to even better. Never perfect. Compassion rejects illusions of perfection and loves betterment. So will readers.
3. Feed your writing some air. Just as our characters, plot, or prose need time to develop, so do you. Make sure to set aside some time each day for yourself. A break gives us a panoramic space to appreciate the process more. You could spend the time researching locations to better describe your scenes, or simply make some tea and text your loved ones. Either way, we allow the words, and ourselves, to settle.
By integrating compassion liberally, we sharpen our intent, produce gravity in sentences, and are enabled to deliver on our hope for readers.
Furthermore, when you encourage our fellow writers to do the same, we produce waves of compassion, rippling out to innumerable lives.
Thanks for reading.
-

We writers can self-debase into oblivion. We’ll often read back over your work and all that’s seen are the flaws; typos, awkward phrasing, lazy wording. And that’s if we’re lucky to write consistently enough to critique ourselves often. There’ll be a couple of days in a row of writing using the phone, on pen and paper, even dictating notes; tenacity becomes a self-creating bliss. On others, the unnecessary expectations of self-sabotage lay at our fingertips. In those moments, compassion is our companion. In fact, compassion can be essential to building our writing habits.
Whether establishing yourself in a new career, for dabbler’s sake, or to leave a footprint in the sands of memoir, frustration can cloud our intent. From there, getting in our own way becomes easy. No one is helped when this happens. Knowing so makes us spiral. With compassion as the net we cast over the intent of our writing habits, chances to elicit extensions of hopefulness and dreaminess sprout, bringing balance and harmony. For this reason and more, compassion can be essential, and even powerful to our writing life.
Here’s a few ways to use compassion to navigate the unsatisfying and inevitable frustrations of our writing routine:
1. The best way to write with compassion is to write what you care about most, things that tug at your heartstrings and bring you to ask life’s most critical questions. When you write from a place of genuine compassion, your readers will feel it.
2. Commit to a specific time to write daily. The less we give ourselves to keep in mind, the more we’re able to lock into what we’re doing – like writing. Advance notice is a gift self-given from compassion. You’ll feel considered, prioritized, and grateful.
3. Set your setting. Choose a place to write. Somewhere that is quiet, with the fewest distractions possible. Our attention is currency, and clearing a space for our writing is a compassionate way to honor our writing practice. This might be a challenge, depending on daily demands, and require some flexibility. But combined with a thoughtful hour to write, we may find that midday in the Staff break room at work works well. Or before sunrise, our kitchen at home may prove to be perfect. If only we’d choose.
We want to be consistent with our writing schedule and with the words themselves. But when the words won’t write themselves – they never do, it just feels like it – it’s easy to forget that an endearment and compassion for the unknown/unnamed reader is often what called us to write in the first place.
When the illusion of difficulty enters, having compassionate intent in mind gets us out of our heads and pulls us near to the reader.
1. But first, ask: Who is your reader? What are their hopes, fears, and dreams? Where will you take them through your words? What do they need from us to ensure that can happen? How will they be satisfied after having read our work? Will they be entertained? Comforted? Energized? The more compassionate the intent, the more compassionate and magnetic the writing will be.
2. Remember: No piece of writing is ever perfect. There will always be room for improvement. This doesn’t mean allowing ourselves to become inattentive to the quality of our writing. It means to be compassionate with ourselves and accept that as our effort compounds, we traverse from good enough to even better. Never perfect. Compassion rejects illusions of perfection and loves betterment. So will readers.
3. Feed your writing some air. Just as our characters, plot, or prose need time to develop, so do you. Make sure to set aside some time each day for yourself. A break gives us a panoramic space to appreciate the process more. You could spend the time researching locations to better describe your scenes, or simply make some tea and text your loved ones. Either way, we allow the words, and ourselves, to settle.
By integrating compassion liberally, we sharpen our intent, produce gravity in sentences, and are enabled to deliver on our hope for readers.
Furthermore, when you encourage our fellow writers to do the same, we produce waves of compassion, rippling out to innumerable lives.
Thanks for reading.

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