Red flag of boredom
I periodically get bored while writing—bored, that is, while I’m actually composing. I can be disciplined when I have to be. So if my yawning and disinterest persist, I force myself to commit words to the screen, however uninspiring, laying down one outline point after another. Some caffeine always helps, of course.
Over the years I’ve learned to see boredom coming on. As it emerges, I stop, make a mental note of the sensation, and recognize that it probably comes from writing something rote. Something uncreative. Something uninspired and mediocre. And if I’m uninspired, not only will I become bored, so will my readers.
My experience is that boredom in writing often comes from regurgitating old thinking, borrowing overused structures, and using cliché wording. It comes from a mind on autopilot. If you’re not adding to the conversation, if you’re not raising the level of insight, if you’re not furthering the journey of discovery, the blanket of boredom rolls over your consciousness like fog rolling onto the seacoast.
Boredom, I find, is easy to confuse with another sensation—that “oh-my-god-writing-is-hard-work” feeling. The hard-work sensation feels somewhat the same, producing a similar reaction: Ugh, I hardly have the willpower to keep at this task. But boredom goes away when you recognize it and make an effort to overcome it. When you aspire to great writing, telling readers something remarkable and appealing, boredom often morphs into passion.
So when you feel bored, don’t feel you’ve hit a dead end. You’ve probably just lapsed into putting tarnished silver on your writing table. Nobody, including you, wants to be served second-class goods. Use the dreaded pall of disinterest to signal that you should switch off autopilot and go one better with your writing. You’ll have more fun, and so will your readers.
