Write to Failure!
Where perfectionism goes to die
I train at a queer & trans™️ gym, carting my carcass to another neighborhood multiple nights a week and even on weekends to pick up heavy things and perform calisthenics I could easily do in my living room. It’s not convenient and I usually don’t want to go. But I pedal my bike or pack my corporeal form into the L because people will say hi when I get there. We gripe about work drama and rent hikes, swap weekend plans, gossip about shows we’ve been watching (just kidding, I don’t watch shows). And while doing this, we push and pull our way through challenging movements, panting and sweating and occasionally even punching each other.
Some days (Mondays), my energy drags and I barely make it through the workout. Other times, I’m shocked by the weight going up and up, adding plates until suddenly I’m hoisting a load overhead that truly frightens me. I couldn’t do this without friends spotting, cheering, even teasing with, “That looked way too easy. You’re going up next set.”
Writing, like strength training, is something we can functionally do alone. And ultimately, we do. At some point, we have to burrow inside and dig around for words we didn’t know we had. But if the literal solitary movements of writing or training are all we imagine, we’ve missed the point.
I write this because I hope you will read it and feel something. I hope that I write it in such a way that you’re like, “Yeah, I get that, I’ve had those thoughts too.” Writing is inherently relational, both personal and interpersonal. I write to understand my own thoughts better, but I also write (and read) to understand each other, to connect. And that’s just about the final product. Before that comes a lot of crafting, and I also need people for that, cheering, complaining, teasing, suggesting!
Speaking of which, the new name for this Substack came from tossing words back and forth with Rebecca Baldwin who, being the bad B powerlifter that she is, suggested “Write to Failure!” I love this phrase. Failure is the boogeyman, and we’re chasing him down.
“Lift to failure” is commonly used to mean, we’re about to go all out. We’re gonna keep adding weight and picking it up until we reach that rep where we’re forced to drop it. It’s a wild confrontation with fear, playing chicken with the inner voice that says, “What if this time I get crushed beneath this barbell?! What if this weight actually kills me?” When I lift to failure, I get under weights heavy enough to kill me. And I keep adding more.
Write to failure employs a similar mind game. I’m always scared of failing when I write, meaning that I write something cringey, I make cheesy lines, people think I’m stupid or boring. Too dramatic, not dramatic enough, irrelevant, whiny, etc. You know what I’m talking about.
Write to failure means I keep writing forward in spite of those fears. I push my limits, press into uncomfortable new territory and take risks.
I love this phrase because it embraces failure as a friend. Why waste all this energy trying to avoid failure when I can instead run right toward it?
It also evokes the gym atmosphere, which is a third place I have inhabited throughout my life. And the most important quality of a gym is that it’s full of people I like. That’s how I feel about my writing life. I only want to do this with friends. In my therapist role, I’ve griped about our accusations of codependency, which is a phrase I poopoo. (That linked article was written almost 10 years ago, but I probably stand by it! And no, I will not be rereading it.)
Get to the point! Okay, okay. Write to Failure! is also a morning writing gym, which I host every weekday 8:30 - 9:30 am EST. I’ve been running this for over a year now and I love what it does for my fear to keep showing up, day after day, and writing to failure regardless of how I’m feeling. I learned this in the gym, I learned it through a couple decades of meditation (which maybe I’ll write about here someday), and it only makes sense to employ this technique to my writing. I hope you’ll join me.
I also intend to write more about the interpersonal side of writing. Being a psychotherapist and sex therapist, I think a lot about how we relate to each other. I’ve spent over a decade studying group dynamics, speaking about it at conferences, sitting around in groups with other therapists sorting out what we think and feel about each other and ourselves and why. Coming out of this recent MFA program, I’m curious about the social dynamics of creative groups. I want to explore topics such as jealousy and competition (I’m a fan!), the function of gossip, what’s this watered down word “community” even mean anymore, the perpetual hunt for worth through external validation. Fun stuff! Writer drama! Subterfuge and strife for connection!
I’m also switching over to a paid subscription model for the morning writing club. I pay hilarious sums to attend gyms, and putting this money down does something to my psyche. Investing in a meaningful way means that I commit. It’s a way of telling myself again and again that this holds worth in my life, and I take it seriously. It’s worth sacrificing something I hold dear, and let’s be honest, we do hold money dearly (another topic I’d love to cover).
The writing gym is the cheapest gym in town, coming in at only $5 a month! One coffee a month. If you truly cannot afford that and want to attend, hit me up and let’s talk.
I look forward to training with you!
Here’s the link: