In Defense of Comfort Writing

with a side order of risk

Whenever I hear people say to writers, “take creative risks,” something in me rebels.

I know it’s good—no, great—advice! In fact, it’s advice I’ve given to students and clients over the years. There’s no denying that going towards instead of away from the things that scare you can be freeing, expand your creative vistas, boost your confidence, make you feel proud.

But as with all the other shoulds in or out of the creativity realm, the pressure to take risks can make us feel paralyzed instead of productive. Shoulds really aren’t motivating, are they. No one wants to do what they should do, they want to do what they want to do. There are enough shoulds in the day that must be done in order to live a functional life—why add to them?

Shoulds don’t generally bring joy, they bring resentment or anxiety—or shame when they’re not followed. One could even say they bring “page fright”—or, worse—page aversion.

Photo by Ryan Snaadt on Unsplash

I don’t want my creative life, or yours, infected by these emotions! And yet the drumbeat of “you should take creative risks” thrums steadily in my brain whenever I feel myself drawn back to creativity that feels comfy for me.

What feels comfy, and where I’ve enjoyed success (I believe the two are directly related), is writing creative non-fiction. And, yet, it’s hard for me, even after all these years, to shake my romantic childhood dream of becoming a novelist (I blame the Betsy-Tacy books by Maud Hart Lovelace, where Betsy aspires to become one).  

In fact, years ago, when I went for my MFA, I started off in the fiction program, still driven by the dream—and the feeling that I should follow the dream. That didn’t last long. I quickly shifted to creative non-fiction, where, instead of the blank screen taunting me, it invited me to fill it with thoughts and ideas and opinions and humor. Instead of feeling embarrassed by what I perceived as my meager talent, I felt driven. Writing non-fiction brought me joy and satisfaction and positive feedback. Instead of one of my professors saying to me (privately, thank goodness), “What were you thinking?!” about the short story I’d just had workshopped, professors were telling me my work was ready for publication. And, thankfully, editors agreed! I’d discovered a form of writing that felt natural to me and fun and satisfying to do—and this is what I mean by comfort.

But in the world of creativity, comfort is usually not celebrated. Even in the case where writers and other artists take huge creative risks and accomplish the enviable goal of arriving at their own signature style, they—or others—still put the pressure on them to keep taking further risks.

e.e. cummings, who famously broke with formalism in his poetry, was then criticized for having a case of “arrested development” when he stuck with his unique style over the course of decades.

Wes Anderson’s films are instantly recognizable as his and beloved. But he’s well aware that some viewers and critics may feel he’s making the same movie again and again. This is his response to the criticism in an interview with “Outstanding Screenplays”:

“Here are things where people can say, that’s like what you’ve done before. And I can actively, aggressively avoid [these things] and steer away from them. Or I can say, what do I want to do? What would I like it to be? And I have these choices with this part of the story, and this one feels like the most powerful to me or the most meaningful to me. But it also reminds me a lot of the scene between Gene Hackman and Angelica Huston [from The Royal Tennenbaums] or something. And I have tended to say, I think I would rather just do what I like and accept that there might be some very clear threads and things that are going to connect my movies together, and that will be okay with some people and annoying to other people, I guess.”

I’m not anti-risk-taking or anti-striving or anti-stretching as a creative person. I’m anti-shoulding.

All writing and all creativity involves risk-taking—it’s just a matter of choosing to take risks free of self-judgment rather than feeling forced to do so. Where does this leave my forays into fiction—the thing that scares me? Fiction, for me, is going to be all about play and imagination and experimentation from now on—no pressure, no stress, no plans for publishing.

I’ll report back on how this experiment goes!

What’s your form of comfort writing? What is it that makes it feel so right to you? Please let us know in the comments below! And thanks, as always, for being part of this growing writing community.

Note: I hope you’ll consider joining my Fall 8-week writing workshop, “Writing from Personal Experience & Observations,” on Saturdays from 11 - 1 EST on Zoom, starting September 9. It's focused on personal essays, memoir, and opinion pieces, along with proven motivation techniques and guidance on getting published. The cost is $395, and there's also a BACK-to-SCHOOL DISCOUNT: If you sign up by this Saturday, September 2, the cost is just $345. Send me an email at meta@metawagner.com to register or if you have any questions. I hope to see some of you there!