I recently discovered the work of couples therapist Esther Perel, and I’ve been fascinated by her work on erotic intelligence. In her book Mating in Captivity, she proposes that what kills desire and eroticism within a couple is proximity and familiarity. From there, she argues, it goes that instilling a dimension of distance and mystery in a relationship is the best way to reignite the flame of desire. By doing so, we learn to look at our partner in a different light, we discover new sides of them and all that unknown sparks attraction again.
This got me thinking…
I was working on my second novel, The Dhawan Brothers, for about three years, and it felt to me that my relationship to my manuscript evolved over that time. From intrigue and mystique working on the initial drafts, to excitement and enthusiasm polishing and editing later versions to, slowly but surely, a sort of ‘been there, done that’ attitude that made me prone to procrastination. I got to a stage where little in the story was going to change, or at least not dramatically. I knew the characters and the plot, and I loved them dearly, but they just didn’t make me feel those same stomach flutters I had in the beginning.
And so I wonder…
Could our relationship with our writing be affected by proximity and familiarity the way desire is in our human relationships? Is it that, the moment we get too close, when we know everything there is to know about the other entity, it loses some of its appeal?
If that’s the case, is the key to making sure we remain excited about our writing diligently creating distance from it every once and a while?
To take a break or not to take a break?
In a highly unofficial poll I ran in my Instagram stories, I asked the writing community about their experience. 94% of respondents said that, in general, they find it useful to take a break from their WIP. Whether it’s because ‘sometimes you just have to recharge’, because it’s ‘like refreshing your mind to be able to focus better’ when you get back to it, or because it ‘helps your brain work out problems behind the scenes’, writers seem to think a little distance goes a long way.
I was intrigued by the many responses that indicated taking some time off their WIP gives writers a chance to get back to it ‘with fresh eyes’. By stepping away from our work, we gain the perspective needed to look at it again from a different angle or through a different lens. That time and space away from our manuscript spark new ways of looking at our stories that we might have been too close to see before. We meet it again under different circumstances and in a different mindset, and it helps us rediscover it entirely. This, in turns peaks our interest and eagerness again.
Too close for comfort.
But then… Isn’t that exactly what Perel’s theory is? That proximity and familiarity lessen desire in a relationship, whilst distance, mystery and fresh perspectives reignite it? When it comes to a writer’s relationship with their work, it feels to me like an interesting similarity.
In that same unofficial Instagram poll, when asked if there tends to be a stage at which they lose interest in their WIP or find themselves procrastinating, 75% of respondents said that’s indeed the case. The additional answers people gave as to when that happens were incredibly varied, for instance:
‘It depends if the passion for the project stays strong’
‘During the first draft’
‘In the middle’
‘In the editing process probably around the fifth or sixth draft’
‘This happens a lot because of self doubt. I struggle with it in all my life’
‘When things are not going the way I want them to’
‘There’s no particular stage, it just ebbs and flows. But I always come back to it’
‘It depends on the book’
There were as many distinctive responses as there were respondents. When I think of my own experience, I find my interest in my own work flaking right about the time the manuscript is polished. That moment where what’s mostly left to fix are stray typos and minor details, but the core of the story is there to stay. That’s the stage where there’s nothing in the writing process that’ll take me by surprise.
When I think of it, that’s exactly how I view and react to everything, in my relationships and in life in general. I like variety, and excitement, and adventure. The moment I get too familiar with anything, my attention starts to stray, until and unless I can find a way to make that situation or relationship appealing again.
Writing as a relationship… with ourselves?
I tend to believe that what we write says a lot about who we are as writers. I’m now also tempted to think that how we write says almost as much about us.
What if our relationship to our writing revealed what turns us on as people? And what tells us more about a person than their inner desires?
Yes, there seems to be a trend amongst the people I’ve heard from, in that most writers find distance from their work to be beneficial, and a large portion see their levels of interest in their WIP dwindle at some point or other. When and how and why, however, varies.
If there are as many ways for it to manifest as there are writers out there, I wonder if this becomes less about a relationship with our craft as it is about our relationship with our inner selves. A situation where observing how we treat our writing is like holding a mirror back at ourselves, reflecting our approach to any other of our relationships — and life — in general?
Know Thyself.
In her book, Perel explains that exploring and understanding your own underlying desires sheds a great deal of light on how you’ll show up in your relationships, what will make you do the things you do, and what might cause you to stray. That sometimes your actions say less about the other person, or the situation, than they do about which of your buttons are getting pushed.
I think looking at how we deal with our writing follows the same logic.
So, if you’re like me, someone who craves new experiences and mystery and excitement, you may find yourself bored when things stabilise and all that’s left is maintenance and housekeeping. On the other hand, if you’re someone who thrives on stability and certainty, you may find the first draft excruciating, but the later stages more enjoyable.
And then what?
What does that even matter, you might say? Just like any relationship, writing’s a journey and there are bound to be ups and downs we all need to navigate. Right?
Right. But I’d argue knowledge is power. Knowing how desire works, in any form of relationship — with others, with writing, with yourself — helps you understand that, not only there will be ups and downs, but also what specifically triggers your own ups and your own downs, and why. And that, in turn, can greatly help you smooth out those otherwise dizzying curves. If you know your buttons, you don’t have to let them control you. You can take charge.
The writing journey can be fraught with surprises and pitfalls, and every little helps. Understanding how your approach to your writing reflects your own inner tendencies can help you predict when an up or a down is about to start. With some introspection, you can better prepare for these, capitalise on the highs and give yourself some kindness on — or even minimise — the lows.
If it can help make the journey that little bit easier, isn’t it worth a try?
Photo credits: Ella Jardim
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