writing

The Purple Pain of the Author

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(This column is posted at www.StevenSavage.com and Steve’s Tumblr.  Find out more at my newsletter.)

Serdar picked up my post on David Marquet’s different forms of work and explored his own experiences in understanding the work of writing. We both understand writing involves radically different kinds of work – grammar, putting out words, worldbuilding, etc. In his own analysis this stood out to me:

I’ve long been averse to what should be the more “fun” side of the job — the worldbuilding, the coming-up-with-stuff part of it. Some of that I can trace directly to the time-manglement [sic] issues outlined here. But the rest of it is an outgrowth of those things, a second-order effect. Because I’ve not been very conscious of how to handle the just-coming-up-with-stuff phase vs. the get-the-words-down phase, I get averse to going too deeply into the former at times, to avoid becoming … well, unproductive! I feel like that way lies drowning, where I end up writing an encyclopedia about my setting instead of writing the actual book.

Some of us may know that worry – that our wild imaginations may make things, but won’t advance the work we want to do. Others of us may have different worries in a similar vein – that the wild part of writing can take over and we may make but won’t write.

Martquet’s Book Leadership is Language, which inspired my original post, addresses this problem. He describes two forms of work – Redwork (the grind, the clock, and “Get It Done”) and Bluework (creative, imaginative, off the clock). Healthy work of any kind has time for Redwork and time for Bluework. He repeatedly warns of the danger of slipping from Bluework to Redwork – because they different and their mindsets conflict. You can’t create and dream watching the clock and ticking checkboxes.

If you, like Serdar, fear that the time spent worldbuilding or dreaming is going to get out of hand, that’s applying a Redwork mindset (“the need to turn out specific things”) to Bluework creativity. A fear of producing nothing – or producing too much – is just applying the Redwork obsession with productivity to something that doesn’t work that way. A few minutes of consideration and you’ll recall times like that in your own life – I do.

Fortunately Marquette – and myself – are used to addressing this. If Bluework falls into Redwork for you – or you fear you can’t take time to imagine – you formalize it. Every X hours/days/whatever you spend Y minutes/hours/days using your imagination to build worlds, or analyze code, or dream up new book ideas. You formally take time to step outside of formal nose-to-the-grindstone work, and then return with whatever you find at the end. In that time you’re free to let your mind go – even if it goes nowhere in some Zen Koan irony.

This is one of my own obsessions – how we can build systems to support creativity. It’s also why analyses like Serdar’s matter – when we reflect and share on our challenges we learn from them. If you’re a writer, you need to keep analyzing how you work and grow – and finding new perspectives, such as a book on leadership.

That contemplation of our own flaws as creatives? That’s Bluework, by the way. Many of us seem to happily shift into letting our minds go when we wish to look at our own flaws. There’s a lesson in that too, I’m sure.

Steven Savage

Redwork, Bluework, Writework, Youwork

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(This column is posted at www.StevenSavage.com and Steve’s Tumblr.  Find out more at my newsletter.)

There are many parts of writing, but I recently discovered a new way to look at them: Redwork and Bluework.

In his book Leadership is Language, L. David Marquet discusses the role of language, leading, and modern work. The book is worth reading on many levels, but one of his concepts is useful for writers; that there are two kinds of work. They are as follows:

  • Redwork: Redwork is by the clock, solid product, often rote work, getting something done. It despises variability and thrives on efficiency and regularity.
  • Bluework: Bluework is thinking, analyzing, adapting. It is all about variability, analysis, and is outside the clock.

Marquet takes an Agile-like approach in leadership, and much like Agile, he notes there’s a time to think (Blue) and a time to work the clock (Red). You have to take time to go off the clock to think, analyze, and imagine. You have to take time to work, get something done, stick to standards and checklists. Juggling these so they work together is vital to being effective – and avoid making mistakes.

I looked at this division and realized it also applies to writing.

There is a time to dream, imagine, plot out – Bluework. There is a time to write and check grammar and hit your checklists – Redwork. Writing is not all about imagination; it’s about getting creativity to produce a product. Sometimes you dream, sometimes you churn out words.

As I contemplated this, I realized this Red/Blue division is something more writers need, including myself. Writing is not some seamless continuity of creativity but is different kinds of activities coming together. If we do not see these differences, then we miss when we’re ready for Redwork, when we’re ready for Bluework, and when we need to stop one kind and switch to others.

I find this best illustrated from an example in the book; prepare the pause. Similar to an Agile retrospective, the idea is that during Redwork you “bake in” a time to review and evaluate. In Redwork, you don’t want to switch to imagination because it will distract you – but you need to in order to assess results. So you decide you’ll pause and reflect, be it every hour or every week, and so on.

In writing, imagine you set a time to review your work every 5,000 words, and you will set aside time for that. You don’t evaluate productivity by word count during that time, but you have up to two hours to make notes for revision. You stop Redwork and go into Bluework, reading, jotting notes, etc.

Then it’s back to Redwork, and the cycle begins again.

I think many (but not all) good writers do this pause unconsciously, but Marquet’s model gives us a new model to look at it. With new names – Redwork and Bluework – we have a new viewpoint to improve our breaks and evaluations.

I’d go into more detail, but I’ll leave this useful concept here and recommend Marquet’s book. Though it focuses on Leadership, a lone writer is leading themselves, and I’m sure we’d like to be better at guiding our writing. It’s also a reminder that writing is improved by looking at other skills and forms of productivity.

Which of course is a kind of Bluework . . . see what I mean?

Steven Savage

Textured Thoughts In Text

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(This column is posted at www.StevenSavage.com and Steve’s Tumblr.  Find out more at my newsletter.)

Gods I needed to see this article – Late-Stage Pandemic Is Messing With Your Brain. I feel so close to this author I never met, and far less alone.

This article is about what we’re experiencing during the pandemic and why. It’s filled with all-to-familiar descriptions of things we’re all dealing with. Such as:

. . . I feel like I have spent the past year being pushed through a pasta extruder. I wake up groggy and spend every day moving from the couch to the dining-room table to the bed and back. At some point night falls, and at some point after that I close work-related browser windows and open leisure-related ones.

These are words with texture. Though the article lists of science facts and quotes from experts, but these words remind you someone else out there is like you. It’s great to know why but this article also says yes, I am there as well.

We need articles and writing like this.

Earlier I noted I had gone from “please no Pandemic writing” to “let’s write about it.” This article is a grand example why, not just for the facts, but for the feelings. Facts explain, but feelings help us understand. Those personal words, those tar-sticky sentences that attach to our minds, create connection.

This is why even in an area that may be oversaturated – like the inevitable writing about the Pandemic – it is valuable to write and write well. Those deep connections you make with your textured words, those gritty little sentences, help people “get it.” They may “get” a scientific truth or just why you’re complaining, but they “get it” and take something away from the experience of reading.

Writing and writing well will connect you to people, even over things that may seem banal. So keep writing, as we all need that connection. If anything in these lonely times, we’re reminded of how even text from a stranger helps us feel understood and seen and be part of something.

Steven Savage