The Worst Writing Advice I Ever Got

I can't pinpoint exactly where I first heard it, but the advice has followed me since I began writing nonfiction: “You must wait X amount of time before you can write about something,” or, “You need [undefined] distance from an event to write about it well.”

This can be helpful advice—for some people, in some cases. But like most writing rules, it doesn’t apply to every situation. And as a writing rule, well, I think it sucks. 

Because of it, many writers hesitate, believing not enough time has passed. They avoid topics because they think they lack the necessary distance.

I wonder if one reason this advice persists due to a dismissal of writing as therapeutic or cathartic. Many battles have been waged (in print anyway) over writing as catharsis versus writing as art. (Another messy topic for another day!)

Now of course, we do need a certain kind of emotional distance or perspective for the writing to work. Last week, I discussed the “harrowing essay” trend and how many lacked self-awareness. I don’t believe emotional or temporal distance alone would have helped — but time can give us the perspective needed to cultivate that self-awareness. 

In Body Work by Melissa Febos, the last essay in the collection called “The Return,” grapples with confession, trauma, and personal writing. She writes,

There is a conventional wisdom about memoir that claims a writer must have sufficient hindsight in order to write meaningfully about her past. This has not been my experience. All that has been required of me to write about something is this change of heart.

This perspective offers a more useful approach to deciding when to write about something. But I also think you can write when you don’t yet have that change of heart — the new perspective can come during the revision process or when you set aside the piece and return to it later. 

I've written many personal essays while going through something, though it typically takes me years of revision to feel finished.

During those years, I cut a lot and revisit what I thought things meant. Early drafts often share personal details that I later remove or soften. My self-disclosures evolve, and the "so what" shifts, but I'm always grateful to have captured the rawness of the moment. Tiny details or feelings that I might not remember later on.

For me, capturing emotional truth often means writing during or right after a significant event. This underscores the importance of discussing self-disclosure, "confessional" writing, and memoir. Whether we're in the midst of something or years removed, how and what we share about ourselves shapes the meaning and message of our work.

Tips for Writing When You Don’t Have a Lot of Distance

My advice is always, if you want to write, do it. Don’t put it off when you feel the pull. 

But be mindful (and demure… sorry) of your body’s reactions. Sometimes resistance is a growth edge, something to push through, but other times we need to listen to it and stop. If you push through, take care of yourself — take breaks, stay hydrated, rest, turn to your support system. 

Also realize that you’re probably not going to have a publishable piece of writing for a while. In fact, I urge you to let it rest before thinking about publication, even if it feels “done.” You may feel differently about your self-disclosures later, and there’s rarely any benefit to rushing a piece. 

When you don't have much distance, it can be tricky to differentiate between the remembered self and the remembering self — the "then" narrator and the "now" narrator. These two perspectives are crucial in creative nonfiction, representing the self in the moment and the wiser, reflective self looking back. Without the change of heart that Febos mentions, you might not be ready to write beyond the immediate experience.

Lastly, write without worrying about an audience. It may never turn into something, and that’s okay. I recently watched a talk by Yancey Strickler, where he described a fork in the road we encounter with projects. We then choose whether it’s a practice or a cathedral. Both are essential, but choosing the cathedral route involves fully becoming the person who can craft the piece—applying skill, getting feedback, revising, and editing. However, if what you’re writing isn't a cathedral, it’s still a practice, which is equally important.

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