Mark Helprin offers up some great advice to writers in Skip the Paris Cafés And Get a Good Pen, but it’s advice that works just as well for all creative pursuits:

Your most important tools will be your honesty, labor, courage, practice, luck and utter concentration. […] More valuable than speed or being struck by what you think is lightning (and others usually do not) is concentration. When asked how he managed to come up with the calculus, surely one of the greatest achievements possible for the mortal mind, Newton replied, “I thought of nothing else.”

I love the writing style in this piece. For example, while expanding on his advice not to try to be Hemingway by writing in cafés all over Europe:

Literary skill, much less greatness, cannot be had with a pose, and exhibitionism extorts the price of failure. Also, have pity on the weary Parisians who have wanted only a citron pressé but have been unable to find a café where every single seat is not occupied by an American publicly carrying on a torrid affair with his moleskin.

When I grow up, I want to write like that.

I’m often amazed at how the people I follow online tend to talk about the same things, even if they are most likely not connected to each other. It happened again this week, with three articles about the value of starting (and finishing) something, even if you’re not sure how it’s going to work out.

First, there’s I cannot design or code a responsive website by Nick Jones:

I didn’t know how to do it right, so first I did it wrong. After I had done it wrong a few times, things started to work. It’s not perfect, but it works. I still don’t know the right way to do anything but I don’t worry about that anymore. Now I just hack and hack and trust that I’ll arrive at a solution. Sometimes it even makes sense.

By ignoring my doubts and trusting my instinct, I made myself vulnerable to attack. The attacks never came. They only ever existed inside my head. It turns out, the guys I was afraid would laugh at my new site, were the first to give respect. Most of my fears were a waste of energy. So are yours. What if you shut out all the noise and just got started?

Then Alex Maughan wrote a great piece called Making is Momentum:

I need to do more and self-criticise less. Critical analysis of oneself is of course important, but it needs to be done with a positive end in mind. I’ve just been beating the crap out of myself. There’s a big difference. It’s not only about replacing the stick with carrots, it’s also about constantly making sure I’m buying the right carrots from sources that prove themselves to be the most trustworthy and wholesome. […]

I need to start being nicer, both to myself and those around me. Making is momentum. Perfection is spurious and stifling.

And finally, here’s Brian Bailey in The Smallest Way Forward:

In the case of a creative project like a novel, the most important thing to do is to write another page. It will be that way every day until it is finished. To be successful, though, you have to allow for other ways to make progress. Pauses are healthy, but it’s important to pause a specific task like writing the next chapter or implementing payment processing, without pausing the project itself.

It’s not the most important thing each day; it’s anything that moves you forward, that brings this new thing a little closer to being a real thing.

That’s three essays in the space of one week, all about the same thing. About not letting the fear of failure or defeat or imperfection stand in the way of creating something. Perhaps we can sum up this whole topic using the King’s words in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland:

Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end: then stop.

Scott Adams in Rewarding Work:

Whenever you see the x-factor in someone’s output — that little extra something that turns the good into the awesome — it’s a marker for intrinsic motivation. Monetary motivation plateaus at the point you think your work equals your pay. For most people, that happens when the product is good but not awesome. To get to awesome you need to think you might be changing the world, saving lives, redeeming your reputation, attracting the mate of your dreams, or something else that is emotionally large.

Hannah Donovan wrote a great article for A List Apart proposing some solutions to the problems of real-time communication feeds. From Everything in its Right Pace:

We struggle not only to keep up with each other’s data trails, but more importantly, to know which crumbs in those trails are worth picking up, as well as how to find them again later—like when you want to relax on the sofa after a hectic week and you know there must have been a bunch of cool things to listen to or watch that flew by on Twitter, but gosh, where are they now?

Once you’ve read Hannah’s article, also read Michael Angeles’s follow up called Pace, in which he explores how the Slow Movement impacts designers:

I have mostly stopped consuming from the firehose, and seek out the products that deliver a signal that I get more value from, more satisfaction, or that fulfil my basic needs with less fluff and noise. The decision to work with a product and team that follows those ideals is important to me as well. […] The Slow Movement is not just a lifestyle choice, but as designers, we can choose to have an impact on the world based on these ideals.

Last night I joked on Twitter:

Sometimes I want to break up with the Internet, but I just don’t have the guts to ask for my records and Phil Collins t-shirts back.

— Rian van der Merwe (@RianVDM) August 25, 2012

It’s only a half-joke though. I don’t want to break up completely with the Internet, but we definitely have a codependent relationship that might require some better pace so we can sort out our issues.

I’m intrigued by the idea of a shutdown routine to end the day’s work:

At the end of the work day, I would look over my calendar and tasks. I would then check in on where I stood on my major projects (which, at this point, meant my thesis). After taking in all this information, I would come up with a smart plan for the remainder of the week. […]

The shutdown, however, was not enough by itself. The ruminating part of my mind would still fire up and propose worries about broken proofs and knife fights. This brings me to the second part of the ritual. Whenever I began ruminating on my work schedule after my shutdown, I wouldn’t engage the specifics of the rumination, but instead respond to myself with some variant of the following: “I completed my schedule shutdown ritual today. I wouldn’t have allowed myself to complete the process if I didn’t trust that my plan makes sense. Therefore, I’m not worried.”

I’ve been trying out a version of this for the past few days, and I like it so far. Before leaving the office I take out my notebook and write down everything I’m worried about, and how I plan to deal with it tomorrow. And then I close the notebook and my laptop and go home. So far I haven’t been able to switch off completely, but I think it’s helping a little bit. Try it out, maybe it works for you.

(link via @retinart)

Letters of Note continues to be a source of endless delight. Monday’s letter is another great example. In The morning mail is my enemy, E.B. White describes with painstaking clarity how distractions ruin our ability to be creative. It was written in 1961, but replacing “mail” with “email” makes it feel like it was written yesterday:

So in the long run, although I’m not immune to praise and to friendliness, I get impatient with the morning mail, because it is, in a sense, my enemy—the thing that stands between me and a final burst of creative effort. (I’m sixty-one and working against time.)

Alex Maughan adds his thoughts to the “fast web” discussion in The Slow Web and the Thievery of Fast Lifestyles:

We are philics of immediate gratification, ticket holders impatiently awaiting our entrance into the never-ending show of serial distractions. Far too many of us are phobic of the good stuff. The stuff that takes emotional maturity. The stuff that takes time, and doesn’t constantly pat you on the back for every small thing you do. The stuff you don’t find on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, LinkedIn, or Dribble. The stuff that requires you to exist without constant, yet ultimately spurious, forms of reinforcement; without any distractions; without the need to bolster your perceived self-worth by harvesting as many Likes as you can for every little asinine thing we spit out onto the Web. We increasingly shy away from the stuff that requires a longer form of consideration to ripen.

The post ends with some guidelines that he’s setting for himself to fight this problem. It’s worth reading.

Just over a week ago Frank Chimero tweeted, “Time to close the computer.” He then deleted his entire tweet history and unfollowed everyone he used to follow. Today that tweet is gone as well, his avatar is a dog, and he follows 3 very different people and 1 bot (@Horse_ebooks, of course).

I don’t know if that story means anything, but Frank is a pretty famous designer, and all I’m saying is that something is going on. Everywhere I look I see people behaving like they just fell off a chair on the Axiom only to realize that staring at a screen all their waking hours isn’t as fantastic as they thought it was.

Maybe it is time to close the computer.

Just as Alex Charchar’s excellent 31-day Exercise in Short & Quick Essays came to an end, one of my other favorite writers, Dmitry Fadeyev, started his own An Essay a Day project. I love these projects, and I wish I had the guts to do something similar. Here’s an excerpt from one of Dmitri’s first posts in the series, called The Road to Hyperborea:

And even when people do break away and achieve what we thought ourselves impossible, we label them “geniuses” and thus once again create an artificial wall between us and them, drawing ever more constraints over our potential. Nietzsche warned us against this by saying that our impulse to label the most productive of us as “geniuses” — and that is what they are, productive individuals who have built up enough experience and have created enough material from which they can select the very best — relieves us of the pressure to compete with them. The label lifts them above our playing field, separates them from us, so that the benchmarks they’ve created no longer apply to us. It’s a declaration of surrender.

That’s a solid kick in the pants to stop limiting our own potential just because there are so many others out there who are better than us. Dmitri is a fantastic writer, so I highly recommend following his month-long essay journey.

This week’s episode of the Back to Work podcast with Dan Benjamin and Merlin Mann really struck a chord with me. In Scream, Poop, and Run they have a long discussion about an article by Jad Abumrad called The Terrors & Occasional Virtues of Not Knowing What You’re Doing. There is one part in particular, where Merlin talks about not listening to people who tell you what you can’t do, that I keep replaying in my head:

There are so many voices that you are going to hear — some of them actually outside your head — so many voices that you are going to hear about what you should be doing differently, what you’re doing wrong, what you’ll never be capable of, what you’ll always suck at, and you’ve got to not listen to those voices.

The people who constantly tell you what you shouldn’t do are typically really good at not doing things. And that is a virus they are very happy to spread. They are people who just don’t make stuff, they are people who don’t do stuff, and they are more than happy to try to pull the entire world down to their level of not making and not doing. And that’s something to watch out for. Because if you listen too much to all those other voices, they’ll eventually become your voice. And that’s the voice that’s going to be with you all the time.

That’s the voice you’ll go to sleep with, and it’s the voice you’ll wake up with, and if you listen to it too much, it’s going to drown out the tiny voices. And the tiny voices are like the little Will O’ the Wisps in Brave, these little blue lights, saying, “Try this way. Come this way. Come this way.” And those little blue lights — or the tiny voices — you’re only going to hear that if you’re not being drowned out by all the things that say that you’re not even worthy of having your own Wisps.

Those are very loud voices — especially if you make stuff for the Internet. It’s just always there — it’s a constant din of people telling you what you should be beside yourself. And that’s the worst advice in the world.

The whole episode is great. Have a listen.

Eric Spiegelman writes about the virtue of brevity in email:

Long emails are, more frequently than not, the worst. When you send someone an email, you make a demand on their time. If you use more words than necessary, you waste their time. Sure w’re talking maybe a fraction of a minute, but given the number of emails the average person sends in a day those fractions add up pretty quick.

This makes intuitive sense, and anyone who gets a lot of email would agree. I’ve even tried to adhere to the Five Sentences philosophy for a while — with not much success.

But there’s something in me that wants to resist this move to get rid of all the “fluff” in email. Sure, it makes you less productive if you have to read through a bunch of stuff that’s not relevant — but I wonder if there’s a danger that the way we talk in email will spill over to the way we talk to our friends and family. Just like “LOL” jumped from text messaging and IM to enter our vernacular in all kinds of weird forms like “For the lulz”1.

Patrick Rhone recently wrote an article called Twalden (it’s worth reading just to discover why he chose that title), where he discusses why he’s taking a break from Twitter:

Ultimately, I don’t know if what Twitter has become is for me, or the people I care about, or the conversations I wish to have. The things I want to know are “happening” — like good news about a friend’s success, or bad news about their relationship, or even just the fact they are eating a sandwich and the conversation around such — I wish to have at length and without distraction. Such conversations remain best when done directly, and there are plenty of existing and better communication methods for that.

The phrase at length and without distraction really stuck with me. When’s the last time you had a discussion at length and without distraction? It seems to become rarer and rarer these days. I’m not trying to draw a causation effect between short, get-to-the-point emails and the general distractedness of our everyday conversations. I’m just saying that it’s probably ok to say “Hi!” and “Thank you” in emails every once in a while, because it’s nice to be nice.

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1. Ok, maybe I just hang out with really weird people. ↩