Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird: A Remedy for Perfectionism
I once told my mom, “I wish I could get paid for my thoughts.”
“That’s called being a writer,” she responded.
The writer is the often sensitive, introverted, observant, modern-day paid philosopher. The writer is the closest to a telepathic, transferring their thoughts into the mind of others. The writer is the mentor, the teacher, the change-maker–passively and indirectly, by nature of their practice.
A few weeks ago, I pulled up a chair to the Tim Ferriss podcast to hear from his guest, Anne Lamott, speak on behalf of “Taming Your Inner Critic, Finding Grace, and Prayer”. Anne Lamott is an American author, progressive activist, and writing teacher. Compelled by her honesty and empathizing with her upbringing, I soon considered myself one of her students from afar. In less than a day I had started reading Bird by Bird, her classic book on the art of writing.
Practical, genuine, slightly dark but padded with humor, Bird by Bird undoubtedly served its intended purpose; that is, it provided insight to develop the craft of writing. It also confirmed my past suspicions: I belong in my writer’s shoes.
Yes, the shoes that I have often left on the shelf to gather dust and cobwebs. The shoes that I would gaze upon with a sense of pity riddled with frustration, as I was convinced they were not durable, worthy, or interesting enough to be put to use.
I was buying into “the voice of the oppressor”, as Lamott describes perfectionism. A counterproductive mental muscle cramp, perfectionism is the grand illusion that stands between our ideas and what can be made of them. Fortunately, with careful attention and dedication, this gatekeeper of our highest potential does not have to get the best of our creative abilities.
Ultimately, Bird by Bird served as an antidote to perfectionism in my personal experience. It acted as a lens through which I could better understand this cruel, inhibiting force that feeds lies of inferiority. This book also shed light on the many ways in which writing is a metaphor for life–principles of writing can extend as general mantras for human existence. More on this later, though. We ought to get to work silencing the voice of the oppressor before we can even begin to entertain the fun existential stuff.
Firstly, first drafts. Nobody’s first attempt at concretizing their ideas is perfect; in fact, nobody should strive for it. The pressure itself is counterproductive. Historically, I have operated out of a “I will immediately write something good down, or I will not write it at all” mindset. How incredibly inhibiting! If writing is the birthing of ideas, these ideas certainly do not emerge from the womb in their most pristine form. Imagine, the sheer amount of renowned literature that would not have seen the light of day if its parent writer deemed it unworthy at first imperfect manifestation. In her Shitty First Drafts chapter, Lamott writes, “the first draft is the child’s draft, where you let it all pour out and then let it romp all over the place, knowing that no one is going to see it and that you can shape it later. You just let this childlike part of you channel whatever voices and visions come through and onto the page.”
Ideas simply want to be paid attention. The right words can wait. When we relieve ourselves the pressure of a flawless initial conception, we can get to the root of what we want to create, saving the dress-up for later.
Another limb of perfectionism is “radio station KFKD,” or “K-Fucked radio”: the incessant stream of nonsense playing in the stereo of our minds at full volume, inhibiting our ability to lean into our creative intuition. Station KFKD is a feeder of self-doubt and thief of mental resources. Station KFKD may oscillate between insisting on our inferiority–telling us we are not good enough–and superiority, proclaiming that we are more gifted and misunderstood than the rest. In either case–as an obstacle to our creative abilities, KFKD radio must be silenced before all else. Only then are we in a position to focus on what matters, creating authentically–and not to mention, efficiently and productively.
Okay, splendid, since we have so far forgiven ourselves from first-draft-pressure and acknowledged (and hopefully silenced) KFKD Radio, I suppose we are well-prepared to embrace the vast fields of creative freedom available to us. However, all too often, this is not regarded as a resting point for many writers. Truthfully, the wide-open realm of creativity itself can be counterproductive. A blessing and a curse, the many available paths to construct a single narrative can be incredibly relieving…or detrimentally paralyzing. Ten ideas, thousands of ways to describe it, and one writer frozen in their tracks. Sound familiar? Lamott’s solution involves visualizing a “1-inch frame” to avoid becoming overwhelmed by breadth of choice.
The 1-inch frame serves as a reminder to focus on what is directly in front of us. The goal is to write down all that we can see within just this small frame–create short assignments and devote attention to one part at a time, meditate on one detail, build out from the one piece or paragraph at hand. Committing to one inch-wide detail at a time can conquer both analysis paralysis and KFKD Radio simultaneously. Alternatively, the urge to encompass the scope of (insert creative endeavor of choice) project at once is a “breadth over depth” approach, and clearly, a thief of richness and substance. The greatest antidote–the one that reclaims the precious quality within the quantity–is to channel our resources on one detail, one paragraph, one character, one event, one feeling at a time. Then the next one, and the next one, and the next one. Lamott quotes E. L. Doctorow: “writing is like driving a car at night. You can see only as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.” In this vein, we ought to surrender the need to map every future move of a creation. The choice is yours: devote the mental energy to the immediate subject within the frame or become overwhelmed by possibility. Although creative freedom appears as the quintessential double-edged sword of writing, it is more so our greatest gift when we learn to properly channel our attention.
Ultimately, perfectionism is a symptom of a greater issue. At its root we inhabit chronic self-doubt, misdirect our mental resources, or become overwhelmed by possibility. Therefore, good writing is not only a skill to develop but a discipline to cultivate. Contrary to common belief, good writing cannot rely on bouts of fleeting, ephemeral inspiration. We are not suddenly relieved of our inferiority complexes, attention issues, or lack of persistence out of nowhere. The writer, or any creative, who waits for some divine savior to inspire and relieve intellectual ills exists at the mercy of an illusion. We ought not to wait for God to press the download into brain button to create something worthwhile. Rather, one must “channel the inner creative muse,” in the words of Jordan Peterson. How ironic that we wait for something that already exists within us.
Resistance will inevitably appear whether we are one, ten, or fifty years into our craft. Some degree of friction will always be present—it is what makes the final product so rewarding and worthwhile. So, we might as well make friends with it and get used to working alongside its company. Becoming the writer that we aspire to be requires initiative–it demands a proactive, disciplined, consistent embrace of existing creativity. It means sitting down and getting into a rhythm whether the Saint Inspire is on your shoulder or not.
Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life, and it is the main obstacle between you and a shitty first draft. I think perfectionism is based on the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each stepping stone just right, you won’t have to die. The truth is that you will die anyways and that a lot of people who aren’t even looking at their feet are going to do a whole lot better than you, and have a lot more fun while they’re doing it.
- Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird
Finally, I want to address the inevitable existential question, faced by every human being at some point as well as the perfectionist writer who has just read his or her first draft: what is the point?
Luckily, Lamott has several responses that inspire the writer’s purpose, and inherently, assuage our collective human nihilism. Writing, in many ways, is a metaphor for life. Our reasons to write often parallels our reasons to live, as described by these Bird by Bird quotes:
“We write to expose the unexposed. If there is one door in the castle you have been told not to go through, you must.”
“…what you have to offer is your own sensibility, maybe your own sense of humor or insider pathos or meaning. All of us can sing the same song, and there will still be four billion different renditions. Some people will sing it spontaneously, with a lot of soulful riffs, while others are going to practice until they could sing it at the Met. Either way, everything you need is in your head and memories, in all that you’ve seen and thought and absorbed…do your three hundred words, and then go for a walk.”
“[Writing] is about some of our deepest needs: our need to be visible, to be heard, our need to make sense of our lives, to wake up and grow and belong.”
And finally, in her closing paragraph:
“So why does our writing matter, again?” they ask.
Because of the spirit, I say. Because of the heart. Writing and reading decrease our sense of isolation. They deepen and widen and expand our sense of life: they feed the soul. When writers make us shake our heads with the exactness of their prose and their truths, even make us laugh about ourselves or life, our buoyancy is restored. We are given a short at dancing with, or at least clapping along with, the absurdity of life, instead of being squashed by it over and over again. It’s like singing on a boat during a terrible storm at sea. You can’t stop the raging storm, but singing can change the hearts and spirits of the people who are together on that ship.”
The need to write and to live are commonly one in the same. There is inherent meaning within broadening perspectives, fostering connections, making greater sense of the world and our existence. And, why should we bother, says the nihilist and the perfectionist alike. We should bother because it helps us cope with the tragedies and enrich the triumphs. Although we have our individual subjective interpretations of life’s meaning, it is hard to argue that this is at least part–a microcosm, perhaps–of the whole point. The writer merely uses communication tools as a medium to achieve this end.
I’m going to offer my own antidote to perfectionism here as well, and it’s a tough pill to swallow. The reality is that any attempt at creation could be a waste of time. In other words, no creative act is endowed with immunity against potential meaninglessness. Stephen King, the Beatles, Michelangelo, [insert favorite creator of choice here] had an equally convincing case to succumb to the voice of the oppressor in the early (and the inevitably slow) years of their career. Yet, we can largely agree that the world is a richer, fuller place as a result of their commitment to their unique visions. We must trust that any time and energy devoted to creation and expression is inherently worthwhile.
Therefore, I must emphasize: if perfectionism is the gatekeeper of this ability, it is worth suiting up in whatever armor necessary to conquer it. Perfectionism too often stands between our ideas and the ability to manifest them. Fortunately, it is not a terminal illness. What is truly fatal is to neglect our internal creative visions because we let the voice of self-limitation win out. So, before you go. I urge you to relieve yourself the pressure of a perfect first draft, commit to an idea one 1-inch frame at a time, smash KFKD Radio, conquer lingering resistance in your thoughts and behaviors, and lean into the patient creative voice that has been waiting for your attention all along.
I have a plethora of other highlighted quotes at my disposal from Bird by Bird, but I highly encourage any creators to read the book themselves. Writers, by the power vested in me, I hereby decree it on your reading list, and if you resist, fine, but you’re doing yourself a disservice by neglecting the practical wisdom of this book. I also love and recommend the Tim Ferriss podcast to any and all, as it has introduced me to many amazing people, books, and habits worth forming.
