November Things

on perfectionism and an arts/activism workshop

Photo by Musa Ortaç on Unsplash

A running theme of this Substack has been the ongoing challenge of not overthinking, just posting. Dude, it’s a challenge I constantly fail, no matter how many times I remind myself that I put ‘Sketchbooks’ in the title for a reason. But hey — we are all works in progress etc etc so I’m doing my best to be patient with myself and look whatever-it-is that’s getting in my way in the eye. I don’t actually know what it is — some combination of not having found the rhythm of posting, not sitting down to just do it when the thought strikes me, and maybe, I guess….some form of perfectionism?

I hesitate and form it as a question because I’ve never thought of myself as a perfectionist. I’ve thought of myself as someone who rails against perfectionism and emphatically cautions my students against it. I’m not overly meticulous. I don’t mind some grammar errors or missed words. I tend to just write in a steady flow, like I am now. But I think there’s more to perfectionism than being a dick about punctuation. Sometimes, maybe, it’s about clinging to an idea of how we’re presenting our ideas and trying too hard to sculpt that into an overly coherent, fully put together notion before dropping it on the world.

what’s more important than what perfectionism is or isn’t though: how do we move past it, eliminate it as a roadblock, and truly let ourselves flow? I love the notion

Cynthia Francillon

wrote about in this beautiful, moving post — that overcoming perfectionism requires actively resisting it, leaning into imperfection even. And then letting amazing, unexpected things happen. This was a much needed push and reminder. Her revelation came through the inspiration of jazz, and it reminded me of something mangaka Hirohiko Araki, creator of JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure, wrote about drawing on paper vs. digital — the comparatively unforgiving nature of paper reminds him of live jazz improvisation, and that’s why he loves it. The note you play, the line you draw, it’s done; there’s no going back. It becomes a record of that very moment, a very intimate fingerprint of the act of creation.

I love that notion. No shade to digital — I still love it and use it a lot, but I’ve recently gone back to drawing on actual paper and the difference, after several years of scribbling on a screen, is profound and indescribable. There’s a freedom inherent to the physicality, the tactile thrill of it, that’s impossible to describe.

Another thing I often tell my students: while we always have to remember the spoken element of literature, writing itself is not performance art. It’s iterative. You get to keep writing that sentence until you nail it. But there’s a power to the initial thrust of inspiration that’s worth paying attention to, giving respect to, letting linger on the page even through the editing process. There is such a thing as over-editing.

Anyway, this is a reminder as much to myself as to anyone reading this: let it out. Don’t hold so tight that you end up keeping it all to yourself and away from the world. Our craft is our gift to the world, which means it’s not about the minutia of perfection but the deeper sentiment that we endow it with.

UPCOMING WORKSHOP: CRISIS CREATES US

Speaking of all this, I’m presenting a very special workshop on Tuesday (Nov 19) through Workshops 4 Gaza. Crisis Creates Us brings together the narrative fundamentals core concepts I teach and my organizing work to look at story and activism through a lens of crisis. Proceeds benefit a family trying to survive the genocide in Gaza. These are two strands of my life’s work that have always been entwined, but I’m not combining in a much more intentional way and it’s a conversation I’d love for you to take part in. Join us!

That’s all for now! As always, let me know your thoughts in the comments and thanks for being here!

D