For years, I wrote books by setting the usual writing goals: daily word counts, weekly page counts, monthly revisions. While these led to finished projects, they also did something more sinister, transforming writing from delight into drudgery. Instead of basing my success on joy, I obsessed about productivity. Writing for word count instead of happiness drained the life from my practice.
Perhaps it is no surprise, then, that 15 years into my career, I found writing impossible. I was bereft. My approach not only robbed me of my art but also erased my identity. If I didn’t write, who was I?
Writing for word count instead of happiness drained the life from my practice.
It was lucky, then, that around that time, I stumbled upon Tema Okun’s characteristics of white supremacy culture. These characteristics are:
- Perfectionism
- A sense of urgency
- Defensiveness and/or denial
- Quantity over quality
- Worship of the written word
- The belief in one “right” way
- Paternalism
- Either/or binary thinking
- Power hoarding
- Fear of open conflict
- Individualism
- Progress defined as more
- The right to profit
- Objectivity
- The right to comfort
When I saw the list, something clicked. I realized my writing goals were not based on my values but the larger culture’s. What was word count but an investment in “quality versus quantity?” What was forced daily writing sessions but a “belief in one right way?” What was an obsessive drive to publish books but a “sense of urgency” and “the right to profit”?
I wasn’t the only one suffering. Just about everyone I taught had writing goals that reflected oppressive values. The process we all once adopted because of our love for the craft was now making us miserable.
In response to this epiphany, I designed a class called Decolonize Your Process, appropriate for writers ranging from high school to college and beyond. I usually teach this towards the end of the semester when students have begun thinking about how they will carry their writing practice forward after our class ends.
Knowing that there are many ways to be a writer inevitably cultivates relief.
We begin by reading a passage about an author whose practice rejects white supremacist culture. Some of my favorite passages include award winning indigenous author Terese Marie Mailhot’s description of her writing routine in the now defunct Catapult magazine (which works very well with graduate students); queer, formerly undocumented immigrant Karla Cornejo Villavicencio’s essay in The Nation about the unfair expectations publishers force upon writers of color (which works well with undergraduates); and Nigerian Indian queer writer Akwaeke Emezi’s essay in Buzzfeed (which works well with high school students). After one or more of these readings, we discuss what students found surprising or unexpected. Often, I notice their shoulders lowering, their faces opening. Knowing that there are many ways to be a writer inevitably cultivates relief.
Next, we define each of Okun’s characteristics for ourselves, then ask how the authors in our readings defy the white supremacist rules of the game. Mailhot, for example, describes spending hours on perfecting a handful of sentences, defying the white supremacist value of “quantity over quantity.” The idea that you can spend time playing with language rather than generating word count intrigues students, as does Villavicencio’s rejection of the idea that she, as a formerly undocumented immigrant, must always write about heavy topics due to “paternalism,” and Emezi’s questioning of the “power hoarding” structures that gatekeep writers of color. For younger students, a graphic organizer that lists the characteristics of white supremacy culture on one side and leaves room for examples on the other helps them organize and track their thoughts, as does filling in the first two to three rows of the organizer together.
After this initial analysis, we use another graphic organizer to compare common writing goals with the values of white supremacy culture. For example, students often connect writing at the same time every day to the “belief in one right way,” admitting that when they skip a day for good reason—medical issues, family obligations, paid work—the weight of their guilt torpedoes their practice. Students often connect word count with “quantity over quality” and “a sense of urgency,” and publication with “worship of the written word” and “the right to profit.” Confronted with these comparisons, students question whether their traditional goals are the best tools for finishing their process.
Critiquing these constructs inevitably leads to new questions, most commonly: if we do not set traditional goals, then what goals do we set? At this point, I always remind students—especially younger ones—that finishing a piece is an essential skill. If we reject these goals, we need to replace them with something else that helps us finish.
To rethink our goals, we must rethink our values. What is important to us? What do we want our world to look like? How do we want to treat ourselves?
At this point, I provide students with a list of values and ask them to pick three to four that align with them, rather than white supremacist culture. My favorite list of values is Brene Brown’s, both because it is comprehensive and because it is easy to print or project. Once students pick values that work for them—a process that younger students often enjoy doing in groups—I ask them to create new writing goals that align with these values that they have chosen.
I show them the writing goals I used to finish my forthcoming book. To model my goalsetting, I begin with the white supremacy culture aligned goals that I used for previous books. I then explain how I realigned these goals to match my own values of joy, community, beauty, and justice. In the process, I describe how I achieved almost all of these and submitted my final draft months ahead of my editor’s deadline. Students appreciate this success story since it serves as proof that the process really works. They also appreciate the graphic organizer as a way to structure their thoughts—this is especially true of high school students and undergraduates.
After discussing this example, students write their new, values-aligned goals using a blank version of this graphic organizer, then share and refine the goals in pairs before sharing with the whole group.
If time permits, we also generate a list of free or low cost treats they can give themselves when meeting milestones, such as streaming a movie they’ve been meaning to watch, making themselves a special meal, or planning a small celebration with a friend. The rewards lean into joy and personal celebration, rejecting the idea that the end goal is publication rather than the art itself.
Students may leave the class with writing goals that they do not follow, but that’s okay. The point of the exercise is to identify how white supremacy culture impacts our creative practice, not to punish ourselves for unmet milestones. This structured process equips students as young as teenagers to identify harmful patterns that hamper their writing. In the past, students have linked their struggles finishing projects with “perfectionism” or connected the pressure they put on themselves to a false “sense of urgency.” The practice of comparing our writing to white supremacy culture is about reclaiming art for ourselves and remembering why we began to make art in the first place: because we love it.
Teaching this class is incredibly healing. The more I teach the class, the better my students and I are able to divest from white supremacy culture and align our practice with what we believe, rather than what we are told to believe, as a step toward liberation.
Featured photo by DS stories.
