LIMITS

By Clay Stafford

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I was raised to believe that when I came to an obstacle, it was a personal shortcoming if I did not push through, a personal failure if I did not succeed, and a personal cowardice if I gave up. Those beliefs inhabited the marrow of my bones and festered in the recesses of my brain. I had no natural limits, none of us did, or so I thought and was bred to believe. Even giving credence to such an absurd suggestion felt irresponsible. I knew I and everyone else could overcome anything if we only pushed hard enough. There was no skill we couldn’t learn, no talent we couldn’t expand, no mountain we could not climb. I not only judged myself; I judged everyone. I taught it to my students and in my lectures. We all needed to be responsible for the optimal performance of our lives. It was called being dependable, being responsible, rising to the challenge, working harder and smarter, and pushing through. The push was always highly emotional, causing stress and conflict not only in me but in all my relationships, where others’ performances fell short, but I knew it was worth it. It brought out the best in all of us. Like a winning coach, I pushed myself and those around me. And when they pushed back, I viewed their lack of participation as denial and even laziness. Emotionally wrought, I could never see the mental clarity lost in this thinking. From the dejected faces of those I lived and worked with, it seemed I failed in the very presence that I thought I was being, the one I thought I was protecting. Even in that, I strove to do better.

The satisfaction of control brought me peace, or so I thought. I put myself in charge of my destiny. I oversaw my own future, and nothing could get in the way of that, and very little did. I offered every problem and relationship a doorway that could make things easier for me and everyone around me, but if it was blocked, I had no qualms about going through the wall. Pushing longer, harder, and stronger was, to me, a form of commitment. Staying with a problem until the end of the day, even if that day ran into the night, or even several days without sleep, was applaudable devotion and intention. Accepting limits or growing tired meant one had no self-respect. This was how a meaningful life was to be built; the lives of the great men and women I read in biographies exemplified that. They pushed through because they had something all of us could acquire: character. They built meaningful lives; I would, too. Endurance, discipline, and refusal to quit were the framework of success. Refusal to quit meant refusal to retreat, like cowards, like those who were weak. Even rest itself, I told myself, could wait. “I can sleep when I’m dead” was not uncommon coming out of my mouth in reply to those who were close to me and cared, as I popped my trucker’s caffeine pills, drank my ten Cuban coffees, and my gallon of daily tea.

The cost of this thinking and living with such force didn’t show up immediately. It took decades. That’s the deception we take to heart when we believe the deceitfulness chocked at us by the sycophants of the famous. The famous lied to the watching world, the obsequious flatterers lied to readers of books about great men and women, and then I took those as truths and lied to myself. Sure, the lies gave me extra waking time, or something that resembled it anyway. I learned how to stretch the day thinner, how to draw more from myself than I thought I could. The point that activity didn’t always equal accomplishment, though, was often lost on me. What I gained in hours, I lost, though I didn’t realize it, in life and relational clarity. After decades of this rat race, my attention to the important things, not just the walls to burst through, began to dull. My decisions about where to focus slowed. Simple things began to take longer, though I attributed that to age. Regardless, the very life I had always believed I was protecting by defining my own fate began to resist me.

I began to see, or rather I began to feel, that the very wall that I could not seem to push through was myself. Nothing dramatic happened to show me this. Fatigue didn’t announce itself to me publicly. Nothing in my life collapsed. Feeling tired all the time wasn’t bad; it was my baseline. Yet, focus began to take on the persona of irritation toward my work, myself, and the people around me. I no longer set out to tackle only the big things; small problems now carried more weight than they should have, and small mistakes by others began to irritate me. Life began to feel painful, even at times undesirable. Everything became such a big deal. I found that where I used to slam through walls, I began to make choices not out of intention, but out of relief. I became drawn to whatever would end the discomfort the fastest.

Being successful, I began to wonder, why did I feel at rock bottom? Being high in my profession, having relationships others would envy, having built the life I envisioned, something had to change, though I didn’t know how to give it a name. My choices began to become ill-guided, not from indifference, but from dullness. The part of me that once noticed nuance grew silent. Subtle distinctions in life, work, and people disappeared. I lost my sense of when effort was required and when time was the truer answer. I could still function, but I was compensating, now relying totally on force on everything where attention and inspiration once worked cleanly.

Then came denial, and the emotional cost that followed. Each time I overrode the yokes, big and small, that pulled me down, I taught myself not to listen. Signals that I used to welcome began to annoy me. They were inconveniences to my peace. Discomfort became something to suppress, to submit to silently rather than with understanding. Gradually, all trust eroded, not just in my body, mind, emotions, or energy, but in myself in general. A faint impatience began to settle in, yet flat, a sense that I was now pushing through life, all parts of it, still accomplishing, but rather than moving with it, things were no longer flowing.

As a result of shutting out the world and the world within my own head, my world narrowed. Limits began to change perspective. Everything became about getting through the day. Curiosity, my lifeblood, even began to fade. I knew something needed to be done, but that was the problem. I had everything I could ever want. Recovery from that seemed crazy and certainly ungratefully indulgent. Surprise began to have no place or excitement. My world was perfect. I was not in crisis, yet I was living as though I were. Survival mode replaced presence without my consent. Everyone around me felt it or felt the brunt of what I would not share.

I think the most dangerous part was how ordinary it all felt. Nothing told me to stop. Nothing told me to slow down. Nothing hinted at any type of collapse. Nothing told me I needed to stop bashing walls. No one told me I had a problem, or if they did, I didn’t hear. What I was doing, though, was operating below capacity, and I’d been doing it for way too long. I focused on my limitations to the point of obsession, at the expense of seriousness and gratitude about what I could control. There were limitations that I could not power through, I realized after too many years. And because I didn’t realize this earlier, all limitations, even challenges, began to operate out of the same intensity. Out of the blue, it hit me that if I couldn’t power through certain things that didn’t erase who I was or what I could become despite them. I realized that maybe those walls were there for a reason, that maybe I was meant to be something I didn’t consciously see myself as. The realization was slow and painful, but my life began to change. Centering took the place of warfare.

My limits took on a new light. They were never obstacles; they were misconceptions on my part. They were even guardians of who I was meant to be. The sad thing is, I had been deluded and deluded myself for a lifetime. I recognized the pundits of the super life were frauds. I began to respect those limits. At first, I didn’t respect limits dramatically or perfectly, but rather honestly, and, when I did, something softened inside me like the Grinch’s frozen heart. Efforts on things that were within my limits became cleaner. Decisions within my framework grew quieter and more precise. Life began to deepen again, rather than merely expanding. I began to do less because I stopped slamming into walls and instead spent my time doing more. That was the paradox. In fact, I did better at everything I did. The cost of refusing to stop at natural limitations had been the gradual loss of the very capacities that made my efforts meaningful in the first place. Limits and walls became not challenges to defeat, but invitations to stop long enough to acknowledge, honor, and preserve those things that did matter within the sphere of life I’d been given in which to live. Limits became no more than a beautiful river in my life, a life without a boat, that asked me to choose the path to the left or to the right when it told me in so many ways I could not cross but promised adventure no matter which direction I chose.

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Clay Stafford is a bestselling writer, filmmaker, and founder of the Killer Nashville International Writers’ Conference, Killer Nashville Magazine, and the Killer Nashville University streaming service. Subscribe to his newsletter at https://claystafford.com/.

THE WORLD GOT WIDER

By Clay Stafford

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For a long time, I believed that anything worth pursuing should come with a clear signal, some sign, momentum, or external confirmation that I was moving in the right direction. I think I was waiting for the circus to come to town. Looking for that exterior confirmation, though, quietly narrowed my world without me even noticing.

I didn’t really understand this belief, this idea that I was essentially performing for others. I didn’t think about it. It wasn’t something I put into words. It just showed up, thoughtlessly, like the morning sun. Unlike the mark of a new day, however, this subconscious belief or need for validation manifested as hesitation, maybe doubt. When no one clapped, no one replied to my desperate phone calls, letters, or emails, or no one offered a word of encouragement or support, I found I slowed down. I started to wait. “Give me a sign,” my needy heart exclaimed. I started second-guessing my map. I equated uncertainty with fear, that I was about to make a mistake.

I don’t know when this thinking began; it may have started in childhood, perhaps reflecting a need for parental approval in a conditionally loved world. The shame is that it shaped my life more than I realized. It made me cautious, even timid, in moments that required courage. Wherever it began and however it grew, this subconscious belief that I needed that validation trained me to seek approval from others rather than to seek direction from within. I couldn’t help but think that when progress was slow, and especially when it stalled, it was proof that I was off track. When I felt something mattered, but yet it demanded so much unapplauded effort, I wondered if I wasn’t forcing something that should not be rather than earning something that should not have to be affirmed.

Somewhere along the way, it hit me. Why? Maturity? God-given insight? Not sure. I know nothing external changed. There were no circus clowns. No breakthrough arrived. But inside me, the moment that my life began to change, the moment that I began to change, was a shift in the limiting belief itself.

Somewhere in my Los Angeles days, I began to notice that the work that mattered most, not only to me, but to others, oddly rarely announced itself. In its inception, in its call to adventure, it made no promises. I didn’t have to wait for the green light to proceed. I didn’t need any person in power to give me some grand confirmation that I had finally found the path. Instead, my life and work began to show up, not with fireworks, but in small, unglamorous ways.

I found I was passionately involved in my work and life when previously I would have told myself to quit. Problems or roadblocks? Instead of avoiding or dismissing them and walking away, I found I started returning to them day after day, living and loving life regardless of who, if anyone, ever noticed. The silence, the fact that no one was even noticing, stopped coming across to me as a warning. The silence became the mental space where my life and work began to live and grow. And from the silence, to my surprise, others began to notice.

“Reassurance” is the key word. I no longer needed it. And when I began to accept this, to believe and live it, subtly, my attention changed. Without needing approval, I began to notice the quiet pull toward specific ideas or desires that were intrinsically my own, not someone else’s to validate. Life started at that moment to be an adventure, even if it was nothing more than showing up, even when nothing was resolved. It didn’t matter. I was living me. I accepted that sometimes understanding comes only after effort, not before. Looking back, I realized that my strongest decisions, the ones that actually changed and transformed my life, were rarely made in moments of confidence. They were made in moments of scared commitment.

With regret, but also with thankfulness for the experience, I realized how much life-energy and opportunity I had wasted, misreading what were, in fact, neutral conditions and neutral exterior feedback. No response didn’t mean that anyone was rejecting me. Resistance didn’t mean I was going in the wrong direction. Slow progress didn’t mean I was a failure or ill-equipped.

Letting go of the belief that I didn’t need external validation for how I wanted to live my life didn’t erase doubt. Don’t get the wrong impression. But what it did was to strip doubt of its authority. Uncertainty stopped being a verdict and became something I could walk alongside. I could live in the present, not the past or the future, and though it might feel uncomfortable to take risks others dared not, doubt was no longer in charge. Living the life I wanted to live became the mantra.

Letting go of that belief, that need for affirmation, didn’t suddenly make my progress in the world easier, but it did make it wider. Possibilities that had always been there came into view, and I was able to accept them without any need for anyone else’s approval. These possibilities that I dared not dream of didn’t change. They were there all the time. I simply stopped requiring permission to see them. Or honor them. Or rather, I realized the only permission I needed to live the life of my dreams on my own terms was mine.

I realized the world doesn’t widen because circumstances change. It widened when I stopped asking permission to dream big dreams. I wasn’t walking with the consent or acceptance of others anymore. I was walking with uncertainty, and noticing I still belonged, not to the whims of others, but to myself. I began writing my life, telling the story I knew should be told, even when I walked alone.

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Clay Stafford is a bestselling writer, filmmaker, and founder of the Killer Nashville International Writers’ Conference, Killer Nashville Magazine, and the Killer Nashville University streaming service. Subscribe to his newsletter at https://claystafford.com/.

The Art of Writing Fast (Part II)

By Chrissy Hicks

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In Part I of The Art of Writing Fast series, I discussed the benefits of Fast Writing (both what it is and why it’s awesome sauce!) Now, I’d like to share the “how” behind this technique…

The “How” of Fast Writing

1) You need a plan

Yes—YOU! You need one. Period. Whether you’re a pantser, planner, or plantser, one of the most effective ways to write fast is to have an outline. And before you throw a fit about outlines…ultimately, whatever process works best for you is what you should stick with. Can you speed through a 50,000+ word first draft with no outline and only an idea in your brain? Absolutely. Just because I don’t, or some people find that difficult, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t if you can. However, it does make it a lot easier to provide direction and can help avoid writer’s block if you get stuck somewhere along the way. But it’s not impossible. So yes, this method can work for everyone. However, I still suggest creating an outline. It does NOT need to comprise an elaborate blue print with character worksheets and maps and a play-by-play of every action. But it should at least include a basic 3-act structure. What happens in the beginning? How do things get harder in the middle—what’s the big setback/challenge? And how does it end? You can do this at the beginning, before writing, or you can do it during your writing. Just keep a notebook or other document open on your screen and note what happens in each chapter as you go. This way, when you get to the end, you can review it and see if the structure still makes sense. Or, if you get stuck somewhere along the way, you can review the outline and see if it still makes sense, if you should take a different turn somewhere, or if you notice a pattern or theme emerge that will help you decide what happens next. Whatever the case, a guideline of some sort will only help, not hinder, your progress as you sprint toward “The End.”

2) Figure out how long it will take

Like with any goal, this will require dedicated time, energy, and discipline. Try this exercise to see how long it might take you to complete a novel:

• Set aside an hour where you know you will not be interrupted (turn off your phone/TV, etc…). Lock yourself in a room and ensure you have everything you need (water, coffee, etc.)

• Prep your computer (or notebook/pen) and set yourself up however you prefer to write

• Have a timer ready and set to go off at one (1) hour

• Start the timer and write for an hour. You can write about anything you want, but preferably in the genre you enjoy most (or are most comfortable writing in). You can use a prompt book or prompt generator to get you started. Here are a couple of good ones: 

• Reedsy: https://blog.reedsy.com/writing-exercises/ 

• The Nudge: https://thorncraftpublishing.com/nudge#305d26da-b9cd-4d7d-859d-48335e22ff02

• The 3AM Epiphany: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/263288.The_3_A_M_Epiphany

• The only rule is DO NOT STOP! If you must (such as, all that coffee you chugged before starting just hit your bladder something fierce), pause the timer and restart as soon as possible. But overall, focus on getting as many words on paper as possible 

• At the hour mark, check your word count. Most programs will have a word count built in, but if doing this by hand, you’ll need to physically count the words

If you’re able to do this 3 times, whether the same day or on 3 separate days, you should have a good average number for your “hourly word count average.” Doing so on 3 separate days will provide a more accurate number, mainly because, if you have one superb day with 3 hours to spare, the words you knock out might not reflect your average word count…thus, spreading out your days will give you a more accurate picture.

My average word count in one hour, without too many breaks, is about 1500-2000 words. Some days are better than others, but that’s about what I’ve been able to achieve. I’m not throwing this out there as a comparison—if you can do much more, that’s awesome! If you came up with much less—no worries! If it’s your goal to achieve a higher word count average in an hour, there’s no better time to practice than now while writing your next book. ( ;

3) Schedule your writing time

Once you’ve got an idea of how many words you can achieve in an hour (give or take), divide that by the word count goal for your book. 

Example: 80,000 / 1500 (avg hrly words) = 53.3 hours. 

For the sake of keeping this simple, let’s say it takes 54 hours for you to write an 80,000-word rough draft. Now all you need to do is look at your schedule and find 54 hours. Easy peasy. 

Okay, so it’s not that peasy. For some people who are currently adulting (i.e., work full-time and have kids and responsibilities, like moi), 54 hours can seem overwhelming. But I guarantee you, it’s not as bad as you think. I’ll bet you can find time to squeeze it in amidst the daily grind. Do you commute to work by train or bus? You could write during that time. Maybe during lunch break? How about after the kids are tucked in? As you study your daily habits and the average day-to-day schedule, you’ll likely find places where you could substitute an activity for writing. If you binge-watch Netflix shows for 4 hours on a Saturday night, cut that to 2 hours and spend the other 2 on writing.

4) Use all the tools (or none of them)

Consider doing word count sprints. Or using a Pomodoro timer while you write. Bribe yourself with treats when you hit word count goals! Example: Once I make it to 30,000 words, I’m getting an hour-long massage. / For every 5,000 words I hit, I’m eating a chocolate chip cookie.

5) Support

Having others support you and your goals is always important. And I hope you have those people in your life. Tell your close friends, your spouse, your kids, etc., that you’re working to accomplish this goal of finishing a rough draft. Doing so will give you accountability, but also (hopefully) show those around you that you’re not ignoring them when you turn down a lunch date or night out. Rather, you’re working hard to complete a project that has a lot of meaning to you. This doesn’t mean you should isolate yourself from everyone and neglect your family (and if you’re Googling things like “At what age can children be left alone before DCS intervenes?” Then you might need to rethink some priorities…). But overall, you’ll likely turn down invites you wouldn’t normally, or be less available during the time you’re focused on speeding through a first draft. It’s good for those who care about you to know what you’re up to. After all, they may be your greatest cheerleaders along the way.

Self-care is another important focus here. It’s easy to lose sight of everything else when you’re hyper-focused on something. But don’t forget to get up, stretch, go for a walk, hit the gym, and take breaks as needed! Your body will thank you for it. If you’re writing the entire draft by hand (bless you), you’ll want to do regular wrist-stretching exercises to avoid writer’s cramp. (In fact, you may want to do these for long periods of typing too…). If you need to schedule in these breaks, then by all means, do so!

If you’ve stuck around for this long, you might be thinking “Hey! Maybe I can do this!” And yes, the answer is absolutely 100% you can. You’ve got the what, the why, and the how. Up next: WHEN and WHERE to Fast Write (in Part III of the Art of Writing Fast series).