In the first part of this series, I discussed how the act of writing is a vulnerable one—this truth feels extra tender for me in this moment.
As I sit down to write the second half of this article, I’m grieving someone I wasn’t expecting to lose and processing the fact that one of my favourite people in the whole world has now lost their soulmate. The entire situation feels ironic, given that this series was pitched and planned long in advance. But here we are, in the tough stuff together, and hopefully this series will support us both in some small way to write the hard things.
1. Let it out
When I first read Gray Davidson Carroll’s “Queer Poetry,” I was utterly blown away. You can practically hear them speaking through clenched teeth, that frustration saturates the entire poem. So, it made sense to me when I learned that the piece was composed in just 15 intense minutes—sometimes, words just need to be let loose.
This approach involves relinquishing form and control to engage deeply and untidily with the topic or emotion. Think meditative stream of consciousness, rage writing, or the unedited frantic filling of blank pages guided by whichever thoughts and feelings happen to pass through you. Try leaving perfectionism, careful word choice, syntax, and grammar at the door. The goal here is to remove that internal censorship and restriction that keeps us from expressing difficult things.
However, because this method can be so emotionally intense, I wouldn’t recommend trying it out at your local coffee shop for the first time. Instead, find a space where you can cry, scream, cuddle a favorite pet or person, take a nap, and whatever else you need to do post-session.
I’d suggest Natalie Goldberg’s Writing Down the Bones as a great resource if you’re interested in creating a writing practice grounded in this approach.
2. Let your draft breathe
Giving that first draft or an unfinished piece some time and space to rest works particularly well when paired with the approach above. But honestly, this practice is useful for any piece or manuscript. I’m a strong believer in returning to a finished work after a good night’s sleep—something magical happens when you let words marinate for a while.
Also, when we’re right in the thick of writing hard things, those feelings are going to be heavy and overwhelming. Taking some time away from a piece lets us regulate, process, and come back when we’re ready. This way, you can return later, prepared to edit with some more emotional distance.
3. Embrace absurdism
The most terrible experiences are also often the most senseless. We try to find some shred of logic or meaning in these moments. But trauma, violence, and loss resist the coherent narratives and linearity we attempt to force them into. What if, instead of working against this senselessness, we let it become a hallmark of the writing itself?
When writing about hard things, let the absurdity, illogicality, uncertainty, and fragmentation shine through, rather than putting your energy into creating a tidy piece. Embrace features like contradiction, non-sequitur, associative leaps, dream logic, discontinuity, and shifting perspectives.
This approach is not only a great way to overcome writer’s block, but it can also be a feature that reflects experiences with more complexity.
Some examples to learn from:
- “Portrait of the Alcoholic Floating in Space with Severed Umbilicus” by Kaveh Akbar
- “Last night I dreamt” by Maria Giesbrecht
- “Slumber party” by Zoe Korte
4. Take care of yourself
Writing about difficult things like trauma and oppression are taxing on the mind, body, and soul. While this work is undoubtedly important, how do we make sure we balance this with our own well-being?
Firstly, I’d encourage you to take lots of breaks and pace yourself. Write a little at a time and step away completely if you need to. If something feels too fresh or raw to write about, give it some time. Allow yourself to process emotionally before you try to put it on the page.
As much as Glossy Planet wants to read your wonderful work, sometimes, taking care of yourself looks like not writing (or at least not writing about certain subjects). Always prioritize your basic needs over submission deadlines.
Also, remember that not all writing needs to be about the hard stuff—in fact, it shouldn’t be. Find a balance between writing difficult things in addition to pieces that are joyous, funny, and comforting. This is one of the points Davidson Carroll makes in “Queer Poetry,” saying in their contributor’s note:
“Our lives are not only the worst things ever done to us.”
Sign up for our summer flash fiction workshop, “Urgent Writing,” led by writer and poet Jaclyn Desforges.
