behaviors also characterize perfectionism. In fact, I’ve learned that many cases of writer’s block are really a kind of trauma catalyzed by a traumatic rejection or criticism (Section 7.1) . The way I learned this was that I would be discussing a cause of perfectionism in class—say, bad teaching or a callous rejection—and a student would say something like, “I just realized that something like that happened to me, and I never finished a work after that.” Or, “I never submitted anything after that.” Or never workshopped a piece again, wrote fiction again, etc. This happened over and over again until I realized that traumatic incidents were very common causes of blocks.
Maybe you can look back at your writing history and find a similar traumatic catalyst for your underproductivity.
It’s important to realize that what makes a rejection traumatic is not simply what is said, but its context (Section 7.2). Relatively mild criticism from a writer whom we revere can be much more devastating than horrible criticism from a clueless relative. Also, rejection will tend to be felt more keenly by those who overidentify with their work or are otherwise perfectionist.
If you’ve suffered from professional (or other) trauma, you should see a therapist or other specialist.
Many events will cause your perfectionism to spike, and when that happens I call it “situational perfectionism.” A harsh rejection or criticism will do it, of course, but so, paradoxically, will a success, if it causes you to raise the bar for future achievement or focus on external rewards. Here’s how one particular writer reacted to the unexpected success of her first published novel: “For the first time ever in my life, I got writer’s block. The stakes seemed to have gone up a lot, and I attracted a lot of publicity in Britain for which I was utterly unprepared.” 1
The famous “second novel problem” is classic situational perfectionism, as is the situation when a precociously successful young writer shuts down after getting seriously critiqued or rejected for the first time. To make matters worse for that second group, their early success means they typically never got the essential lessons in coping that the rest of us got perforce—a problem J.K. Rowling addressed in her brilliant 2008 Harvard commencement address, “The Fringe Benefits of Failure, and the Importance of Imagination. 2 ” There is also usually an element of blindsiding to these types of rejections, which only makes things worse (Section 7.2).
Another common type of situational perfectionism is when someone who’s been blocked starts writing reliably, but then gets cocky and expects too-fast improvement. They’ll use the timer (Section 2.14) reliably for ten minutes a day, for instance, and then all of a sudden decide they’re “cured” and set it for thirty minutes—thus triggering perfectionist anxiety. (Devious procrastination will actually militate for you to do this.) That’s why the timer should never be increased more than around 25% every week.
And yet another example of situational perfectionism is when you have made a financial investment in your writing, such as a new computer, redecorated office, babysitter, or class or conference, and are now telling yourself you must write so that the money isn’t wasted. Ditto for a time investment, such as taking a leave from your job or switching to part-time work.
A particularly dangerous time for situational perfectionism is just after you’ve finished a class or workshop, or graduated from a program. Suddenly, you’re much less supported than you were—no writing community, deadlines, mentorship, etc.—but also under pressure to not only maintain your productivity but recoup your educational investment. There’s also a natural tendency, after a workshop, to feel ready—or wish we were ready—to begin a more ambitious work.
In general, transitions and re-entries (e.g., from vacation to “real
Maybe you can look back at your writing history and find a similar traumatic catalyst for your underproductivity.
It’s important to realize that what makes a rejection traumatic is not simply what is said, but its context (Section 7.2). Relatively mild criticism from a writer whom we revere can be much more devastating than horrible criticism from a clueless relative. Also, rejection will tend to be felt more keenly by those who overidentify with their work or are otherwise perfectionist.
If you’ve suffered from professional (or other) trauma, you should see a therapist or other specialist.
Many events will cause your perfectionism to spike, and when that happens I call it “situational perfectionism.” A harsh rejection or criticism will do it, of course, but so, paradoxically, will a success, if it causes you to raise the bar for future achievement or focus on external rewards. Here’s how one particular writer reacted to the unexpected success of her first published novel: “For the first time ever in my life, I got writer’s block. The stakes seemed to have gone up a lot, and I attracted a lot of publicity in Britain for which I was utterly unprepared.” 1
The famous “second novel problem” is classic situational perfectionism, as is the situation when a precociously successful young writer shuts down after getting seriously critiqued or rejected for the first time. To make matters worse for that second group, their early success means they typically never got the essential lessons in coping that the rest of us got perforce—a problem J.K. Rowling addressed in her brilliant 2008 Harvard commencement address, “The Fringe Benefits of Failure, and the Importance of Imagination. 2 ” There is also usually an element of blindsiding to these types of rejections, which only makes things worse (Section 7.2).
Another common type of situational perfectionism is when someone who’s been blocked starts writing reliably, but then gets cocky and expects too-fast improvement. They’ll use the timer (Section 2.14) reliably for ten minutes a day, for instance, and then all of a sudden decide they’re “cured” and set it for thirty minutes—thus triggering perfectionist anxiety. (Devious procrastination will actually militate for you to do this.) That’s why the timer should never be increased more than around 25% every week.
And yet another example of situational perfectionism is when you have made a financial investment in your writing, such as a new computer, redecorated office, babysitter, or class or conference, and are now telling yourself you must write so that the money isn’t wasted. Ditto for a time investment, such as taking a leave from your job or switching to part-time work.
A particularly dangerous time for situational perfectionism is just after you’ve finished a class or workshop, or graduated from a program. Suddenly, you’re much less supported than you were—no writing community, deadlines, mentorship, etc.—but also under pressure to not only maintain your productivity but recoup your educational investment. There’s also a natural tendency, after a workshop, to feel ready—or wish we were ready—to begin a more ambitious work.
In general, transitions and re-entries (e.g., from vacation to “real
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