Reflections On Writing Blog: Thoughts, Tips, and Suggestions

Book Review: The Midnight Disease by Alice W. Flaherty

Yesterday, I finished reading Alice W. Flaherty’s The Midnight Disease: The Drive to Write, Writer’s Block, and the Creative Brain. Generally, I do not write reviews because even my compliments can be pretty critical and I’m little inclined to give five-star reviews in this era when a four-star review is often taken as a grave insult. Also, a good review takes some effort, so I generally don’t review even books that I like a lot.

Disclaimer

To the best of my knowledge, I have no connection with the author, Flaherty, or the publisher, Houghton Mifflin. I am not being paid to write this review.

Flaherty’s Midnight Disease (2004, Houghton Mifflin)

Writer’s block interests me, so I bought this book.  I suppose that the biggest disappointment in this book is that it’s more about writing a lot (hypergraphia) than writer’s block.  This is not a self-help book to help you with your own writer’s block.

That being said, I wouldn’t be reviewing this book if I didn’t think it would be of interest to many. For this book to work well for you, you do really have to have some interest in neurophysiology. If you don’t want to hear about the different functions of different parts of the brain, then this book is not for you.

One of my favorite books in a while

As a writing coach, I am a firm believer in understanding the crucial role of our bodies, including our physiology and neurophysiology, in writing well. With my view of human cognition/intelligence as deriving both from our bodies (cf., e.g., by Lakoff and Johnson in Philosophy in the Flesh, or Varela et al. in The Embodied Mind) and our environments (cf. Hutchins, Cognition in the Wild), this insight into the neurophysiology of writing, language, and more general neurological function helps me understand the writing process better.

The discussion of neurological conditions was fascinating with respect to understanding the vast diversity of human experience. Many of the stories felt so alien to my own experience as to almost be unbelievable (e.g., synesthesia–in which the hearer of a sound also sees color or shape).

If you’re generally interested in the process of writing, if you have any interest in a discussion of neurophysiology that is comprehensible to the average well-educated reader, then this is an excellent book. Five stars.

One of my favorite passages in a long time

There were times where I felt the author entertained some overly self-indulgent digressions. One of them, however, offered the best comic delivery and payoff that I have ever seen in a serious non-fiction book about writing. The author did something right when the sentence “Most of these people did not seek medical help quickly,” has you chuckling repeatedly for several days after you read it, and draws laughter from everyone with whom you share the excerpt. I’m tempted to give it five stars just on the basis of that one passage.

Principle and Partisanship: Team Truth

In my previous post, I considered the question of whether principle follows from partisan alignment, or, instead, partisan alignment follows from principle. And I said that if there is a “team” whose guiding principle is the search for truth, I want to be on that team.

Finding “team truth” would probably be easier if I believed in “truth.” Or, perhaps “believe” isn’t the right word because “believe” can mean accepting something is real or true, even if its reality cannot be proven. In this sense, I do believe in “truth,” even though I also accept the strength and validity of many arguments against the existence of truth.

“Truth” doesn’t exist

Many have argued that the idea of of an objective truth is impossible. If we are hoping for “THE Truth,” using the capitalization from William James’s Pragmatism, and looking for “one system that is right and EVERY other wrong” (Pragmatism, Lecture VII: “Pragmatism and Humanism”)–what Hilary Putnam would call a “God’s-eye-view”–we run into problems.

American Pragmatists like James and Putnam are not alone in arguing this: post-modern philosophy (e.g., Foucault), theories of embodied cognition (e.g., George Lakoff), and skepticism (e.g., Hume) reject objective truth. Philosophical results like Wittgenstein’s Tractatus and Gödel’s proof of the incompleteness of arithmetic demonstrate the impossibility of any logical system. Even Karl Popper’s Objective Knowledge ends up describing a system in which the only objective knowledge we have is in regards to what is false; we never know if a hypothesis is true, only that it has not yet been proven false.

Jorge Luis Borges notes that infinity corrupts all ideas, including proof: any logical proof depends on on the truth of its premises, but how do we know a premise is true? We have to prove its truth, of course, which requires other premises. And these premises must then be proven–thus proof is stuck in an infinite regression: it can never set an absolutely “true” premise. Bertrand Russell notes this same regression in his Logical Atomism and decides that you have to start with something that is not true but rather “undeniable.” But that only begs the question.

Each of these arguments has merits that I cannot deny or refute.

Team Truth

Although I believe that there is no such thing in provable, demonstrable objective truth, and even believe it is illogical to speak of things being “true,” still I believe in truth. Not only do I believe in it, I am an ardent advocate for it. I think the search for truth is both socially valuable and personally rewarding.

This is a cognitive dissonance that bedevils me. But humans manage cognitive dissonance all the time. Although “truth” eludes logical definition, there is a difference between what fiction writers do and what scholars do–at least a difference in purpose: the fiction writer is inventing things that definitely did not happen, while the scholar is trying to identify things that actually do (or can) happen.

Even though I lack a logically defensible “truth,” still I recognize that somethings are real and true and some are not and are false. For example, this morning, I walked the dog (that’s true), and I did not walk the cat.

I’m rooting for team truth.

Principle and Partisanship

My uncle and I were once debating a political issue when he said to me something like “You support that position because of your partisan alignment.” I responded that he had it backwards: to the extent that I had a partisan alignment, it was shaped by my position on specific issues.

Separately, I had a friendly acquaintance who would regularly argue that scholarly work that disagreed with Republican positions was biased because the authors were Democrats. In that situation, too, I argued for the possibility that the authors were Democrats because their scholarly conclusions disagreed with Republican claims.

Certainly, there are people whose biases affect what they do and say in both conscious and unconscious ways. An economist, for example, who supports the Unnamed Party, might conceivably agree with Unnamed policy because of partisan alignment, and that alignment might influence their research, results, and policy recommendations.

But is there only partisanship? My uncle and my acquaintance both argued all views are shaped by partisan alignment. But that assumes that everyone feels allegiance to extent parties, when it’s pretty clear that many people don’t immediately choose an alignment–witness the millions of voters in the US who register without party affiliation. Additionally, it raises the question of why people choose partisan alignment: we can’t assume that everyone simply accepts the partisan affiliation of their parents.

Doesn’t it make sense that people would choose party affiliation because the principles of the person align with the principles of the party? Imagine a school teacher given a choice between the Schools-are-terrible Party and the Schools-are-great party? What about a member of a labor union given a choice between the Union-busting Party and the Union-supporting Party? What about a environmental biologist whose work suggests that climate change is real? Someone who has dedicated their life to scientific study of the environment and, as a result of that study, concluded that anthropegenic climate change is real? Won’t that person be tempted to align themselves with a party that respects their work rather than ridiculing it?

My uncle said to me: “every one wants to fit on their own team.” I said to my uncle: “what about people who don’t feel they fit on any team?” Personally, I’ve never fit in well with groups. But when a team is dedicated to a principle that is important to me, I like them for that reason (even if there may be other reasons I dislike that team).

Remembering Shared Principles We Take for Granted

Recently, I’ve seen several sources talking about how Republicans or former Republicans were putting aside ideological differences to endorse Kamala Harris for president. For example, the Heather Digby Parton at Salon writes:

the Never Trump faction…has set ideology aside for the moment in order to create a popular front to defeat Trump. (https://www.salon.com/2024/08/26/protection-racket-crumbles-now-have-cover-to-come-out-as-anti/)

Or, the retired lawyers from the Reagan and Bush administrations, who write:

we urge all patriotic Republicans, former Republicans, conservative and center-right citizens, and independent voters to place love of country above party and ideology and join us in supporting Kamala Harris. (https://www.foxnews.com/politics/white-house-lawyers-who-advised-reagan-bush-endorse-harris-over-trump-2024-showdown)

With all due respect, the reason these Republicans agree with Democrats is because of shared ideology: the idea that Democracy is good, and autocracy is bad; the idea that we should support the US Constitution; the idea that everybody should be equally bound by the laws; and other related beliefs–ideals about what the United States of America aspires to.

In my opinion, one reason the Democrats have long struggled to make their message heard is their failure to focus on these shared principles.

In the Declaration of Independence, Thomas Jefferson wrote “all men are created equal.” We can get sidetracked from the general principle espoused by quibbling about Jefferson’s commitment to that principle, and his use of the gender-specific word “men” instead of “people.” Or we can set aside those historical details to focus on the principle implied: all people are created equal, and all people have rights, including the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. But it is that ideal of equality–that ideology–that is at the heart of what has made the United States of America great.

The history of the United States has many examples of the people and the government violating the noble principles espoused in the Constitution (“We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity”) and the Declaration of Independence (“all men are created equal”). But those principles are still good principles. In these divisive times, let’s not lose sight of these principles–this ideology–that should bring us together.

Confidence and Publication: Comparing Russell and Wittenstein

Many writers get stuck with doubts, while other plow through. How you respond to doubt as a writer—the confidence with which you approach difficulties that you face—has a crucial impact on  your ability to write effectively.  In this post, I want to briefly compare two writers of high quality who faced similar issues and responded very differently. I can’t say with certainty that the difference between the two was purely a matter of confidence, but I believe the comparison is instructive. Perhaps it’s a reflection on perfectionism, not confidence, but I think the two are related: the more confident person is able to say “eh, it ain’t perfect, but it is good enough to move forward.

Russel and Wittgenstein

Bertrand Russell won a Nobel Prize for literature for his voluminous writings and was extremely widely published as a leading 20th-century philosopher. Ludwig Wittgenstein, who was one of Russell’s students in the early 20th century, by contrast published only one book during his life, and that book (The Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, which was dedicated to Russell) is not regarded as his most important work. In terms of their publication output during their lives, Russell was a giant, and Wittgenstein a shrimp. But from the current moment in history, however, their prestige as philosophers is equal, or perhaps Wittgenstein is given more respect.  

The Limits of Logic

In the 1910s, when Wittgenstein studied with Russell, their project was logic and, to some extent, the mathematization of logical thought.  The concern was how to prove (or disprove) the truth of a statement.

Russell’s book The Philosophy of Logical Atomism, published in 1914, is roughly contemporary with Wittgenstein’s Tractatus, published in 1918, and their subject matter is quite similar—both are works of analytic philosophy discussing logical proof. The question of interest here is how they handle the boundaries of logic.

At the beginning of Logical Atomism, Russell acknowledges an inevitable and unavoidable subjectivity at the foundation of what he is doing. If we want to prove the truth of a statement, we need to have some starting place—some statements that we know are true. But how do we know if something is true without having proved it? And how can we start the project of proving the truth of any statement unless we have something that we have already proven true? His response is to say, approximately, “we start with something undeniable.” Not true, only undeniable. He discusses what he means by undeniable for a paragraph or two, and then he moves on to other issues. Essentially, he says, “well, we can’t follow the rules of proof for our first statement, so we’ll just ignore those rules and accept our first statement as true because it seems undeniable.”  Practically speaking, that makes perfect sense; logically speaking, it’s almost inexcusable. Emotionally speaking, I would say that this is the choice of a person who has confidence in the value of their work, despite some flaws.

In the penultimate sixth chapter of the Tractatus, Wittgenstein similarly struggles with what is either the same, or a very similar problem: he sees the logician as existing within the system being examined, creating the same sort of unavoidable subjectivity that concerned Russell. His response to this, however, quite different. In the sixth chapter, he discusses how one cannot get the necessary objectivity, and that lacking that, one has no grounds on which to speak.  And he concludes the book with his seventh chapter, which I reproduce in full here: “Of that whereof one can’t speak, one must remain silent.” That’s the whole seventh chapter. One sentence. And Wittgenstein never again published in his lifetime. Logically speaking, this is perfectly sound. Practically speaking, however, it leads to paralysis. Emotionally speaking, I would say this is the choice of a person who doubts the value of their work.

Perfectionism and Confidence

To me, this is a story about confidence and a willingness to accept a logical flaw.  Both Russell and Wittgenstein recognized a similar logical limit, but Russell said “I will still proceed” while Wittgenstein said “This project is meaningless.” To me, logically speaking, Wittgenstein is in the right here.  If you are interested in a system of building certain truth through proof, the whole structure of truth fails if it is built on something that is not provably true. Wittgenstein recognizes this and essentially says “this project isn’t worth the effort because it’s ultimately fruitless.”

Russell’s response is very different, and I view it as a manifestation of confidence or even arrogance. Russell says, “weak foundations be damned, I’m still going to pursue this project.”

I don’t know what emotions and thoughts swayed the two men, or whether the issue was really confidence.  But as a lesson for struggling writers, I think it can be instructive: the writer who pushes forward ignoring problems, produces work for publication, while the writer who takes those problems seriously gets stuck, and even is blocked from publishing.

Getting projects finished and published simply takes a willingness to push ahead, despite problems and weaknesses in your research.

This is not to excuse shoddy work, but rather to acknowledge the impossibility of creating perfection, and to prefer flawed productivity with inactivity brought on by doubts and imperfections.

Who Cares? An exercise for dealing with doubt.

A scholar in a fit of despair, writes “who cares about my work?” It is a poignant lament, and I do not downplay the emotional distress that would trigger such an outburst. This is, I think, a doubt that strikes many scholars—the fear that their work is unimportant and/or only matters to a tiny audience of specialists. Elsewhere, I have written about this from the angle of the inherent value of research.

Here, I want to look at this differently. I want to look at this lament as a possible starting place for an exercise of exploration, of scholarly/academic thinking, and of practical writing skills. Generally, I would say that, in the abstract, a true philosopher would be interested to explore any unanswered question: what is this, how does this work, and how does this interact with the world? Whatever your work might be—let’s call it “topic X” or just “X”—we can explore what it is, where it came from, how it operates, and how it interacts with the rest of the world. To an open, inquisitive mind, such questions can be asked about anything. A child doesn’t ask about the importance of some enthusiasm they find, they simply pursue it and try to learn more about it. The older we get, the more likely that we feel pressure to do something that others will think important, and thus we lose some of the freedom of inquiry that makes exploration not just possible but interesting. 

Value

Before getting into some of the specifics that I want to talk about, I want to note, generally, how value is at least partly dependent on those who perceive it. I say “partly” because I want to avoid debate over whether value is entirely subjective. For the purposes of this post, I am purely interested in the subjective aspect of value, which is what counts if your concern is that no one cares about your work or if your interest is to get published, sell books, and inform, educate, or entertain others. Things are valuable if someone values them. Of course, different people value different things, so values attributed to various ideas may vary widely. The fact that many people do not recognize value in some X does not mean that X has no value. 

Many scholars pursue topics from personal interest/value, even though their interests seem unimportant to few or no other people. This propensity to study that which others think important contributes to the stereotype of the “Ivory Tower” divorced from the “real world.” Having an unusual perspective almost guarantees that someone will accuse you of being out of touch with the real world (even if your unusual perspective is based on empirical study of the real world). When doing independent and original work, there is always the danger that your topic, whatever its validity or potential value, will not catch the popular trend of whatever research is in style, and may not get the respect your work might have earned had research trends developed in a different direction. At the same time, however, doing original work also has the potential reward of other people recognizing value where they had not seen it before. Scholars are supposed to do original work precisely because that originality—that value others had not seen before—is how the research community evolves.

In short, value has a large subjective element. Being original means seeing value where others have not, and then working to make that value apparent to other people, too. But seeing value where others have not also brings up the danger that other people won’t care (at least until they’re convinced that there is real value).

Academic thinking

As a cry of despair, “who cares about X?” is an expression of the thought “no one cares about X; X is not important.” But as a question, it is amenable to the kind of analysis that scholars tend to carry out, and can provide insight into the topic at hand. 

What happens when we take the question “who cares about X?” as the start of an intellectual exploration? What happens if we do as scholars do, and enumerate those who fall into the category of interest (i.e., the grouop of people who do care)? And when we examine reasons that people fall into the category?  We may never be 100% sure of the motivations of others, but as scholars we can absolutely explore the possible motivations of people (including ourselves) and thus gain some insight into the possible importance of a subject. Simply examining who does care can offer a lot of insight.

“Me-search”

Caring about some issue that doesn’t interest others can feel selfish, especially if that issue is somehow related to personal experience.  People sometimes talk about “me-search” as a bad thing, but a question that is important to one person is often important to many, so “me-search” about some experience that you had may provide insight into an experience that many others also have.

Saying “I care because of my history,” that’s a weak foundation for research and seems fraught with personal bias. But if you go one analytical step, and say “I care because of my history, and my history of has characteristics X, Y, and Z,” then you move toward an academic statement in which something more general is being defined. Those characteristics X, Y, and Z, each may be relevant to many other people. The characteristics themselves are also subject to further analysis or definition, which could indicate other issues of relevance.  The more you pursue that analytical approach, the more likely you are to find some connection to other issues and to issues that other people have found important. Your life experience may be unique, but even so, it shares similarities with the life experience of others. In those similarities lie the elements of ideas that concern many people.

Face your fears: exercise

If you lament that nobody cares about your work, you might benefit from facing those fears directly as part of an attempt to objectively analyze the potential audience from many different angles:

  1. Are there authors who have written about your subject? Who are they? We can assume they care about your work, or at least would be interested in other work in their field.
  2. Are there any authors who have written about specific aspects of your work (e.g., using a method from a different field or in a novel way, methodologists might be interested even if they’re not interested in your general topic)?
  3. Are there any people who would benefit from your insights?

It’s possibly also useful to make a matching list of people who don’t care. But in making such a list, don’t assume that people won’t care; stick to people that you know don’t care (e.g., colleagues who have explicitly expressed disdain; friends who just have different interests). If you want to exercise your imagination, exercise it trying to think about who might value your work, rather than those who would not.