A Writer’s Make or Break Moment: a Lesson in Attention from Paul Jarvis

Every writer must think about it, the make or break moment of their career – when they go on their first radio interview, for instance, or hold their first book signing, or some other such pivotal event that indicates that they have “arrived” in the eyes of the public.

But this is not the pivotal moment Paul Jarvis is talking about. In his book Everything I Know, the Canadian designer, musician, author and freelance guide describes something much more elemental – the proverbial terror of the blank page, which he identifies really as an avoidance of the truth and authenticity in ourselves.  In a culture and time when we hear much discussion about the tech-driven “crisis of attention,” he offers a simple antidote, veined with other insights on tapping into our aliveness through our work.  

Among thoughts and stories illustrating the importance of vulnerability, fearlessness, taking a stand, risk, and dealing with rejection as well as straight up being wrong about something, Jarvis astutely describes that pivotal moment, the creative moment when one sits down to write and a familiar feeling sets in:    

You panic. You breathe more rapidly. You probably grab your phone and refresh Facebook instead of pushing through the fear.

As he goes on to say, the fear has less to do with perceived reality than a self-limiting rut that chains us to habit, a habit of defaulting to whatever choice is easiest in that moment of discomfort. The antidote he offers is twofold: attention, and volume of work, the latter of which is only possible by paying full attention (emphases my own): 

This is the make or break moment – and the rub is, even if you start and become a conduit for inspiration in that second, nothing is guaranteed. You can start working and the genius might not arrive. But it’s a numbers game, and your odds of doing great work increase only when you do more work. Keep at it and you may do great, inspired work. But if, in that moment, you go the easy path, the path of least resistance, the path that leads back to the same, tired place, then you’ve missed your chance. You’re back to staring at online cat or celebrity photos, and the possibility of doing great work returns to zero. It goes back to being a pipe dream, something for future attempts…for tomorrow.  

Attention is a gift you give to your work. The more attention you devote to something, the less space fear can occupy.

“Show up, show up, show up,” counsels Isabel Allende, “and the muse will show up, too.” But showing up, if we see it as Jarvis does, means much more than butt to chair. It also means giving our words everything we have, as if they were lovers deserving of every ounce of our devotion for whatever block of time we have set aside for them to move through us.

And so it seems worthwhile to ask as he does, moment to moment, when we’re alone at our desks and terror seizes us and we find ourselves reaching for the nearest distraction:

Genius might be trying to reach you right fucking now. Are you listening, or are you busy refreshing Twitter?  – Hannah