Make it messy

“I want to know what’s true, not what’s beautiful.” – Hannah Grieco

A lot of writers I work with and talk to are concerned about being messy. And they should be. They're not messy enough.

I’m a big advocate of mess in the writing process, from spelling and grammar in drafts to non-linear progress.

But I’m also pro-messy when it comes to us, the writers, and how we present ourselves on the page. The fear of being judged can get in the way of us being honest about our messiness. We contort ourselves to fit an image of acceptability, or simply trim away the details that might make us seem selfish or jealous or petty. 

Or we might go the other way, declare that we’ve entered our villain era and lean into our ruthlessness while erasing our doubt, our pain, our regret.

I think this comes from writing for an audience’s approval. I know that many people who tell stories with this reductive approach aren’t necessarily writing for a big audience, but I think the style informing these stories comes out of that relationship between creator and consumer. It’s marketing: present yourself in a way that’s likable or desirable so people will buy your products or services. And we’re constantly consuming marketing, so it filters into our stories, our art, and our conversations (ask any parent whose children have chirped “hi everyone, thanks for coming to my channel!” at a computer or phone screen). 

For some writers, the idea of these roots is creepy enough to inspire revision. But in braving the new world, I find myself numbing to the bleeps and bloops behind the curtain. It’s more about what we lose in this polishing; by erasing the shadows of our pencil lines, we remove what makes our stories — and us — human. 

I can’t think of a time when I’ve felt just one emotion. Or when I’ve had a singular motivation for my actions. What’s more relatable than mess? More human? 

I think of this aversion to the mess as AITA-syndrome (if you know me well, you know I have multiple essays on this topic, which says more about my reading habits than anything, I know). If you’re blissfully unaware with the acronym, AITA stands for Am I the Asshole?, a popular forum on Reddit where people share a situation and ask strangers on the internet to decide whether or not they were the asshole in the scenario. What could go wrong?

My fascination with AITA posts is for another essay. Instead, I want to consider one of the craft lessons it offers: Too clean is sus. 

Regularly, people share posts describing situations in which they’ve done everything right, considered everyone’s feelings, and made the most rational, well thought-out choices possible. They’ll even concede that they might have been the asshole for some innocuous action that only Snow White would think twice about. Nothing’s out of place, and it all looks and feels unnameably wrong. 

Redditors are happy to name it though. Comments pour in for ‘INFO’ (meaning, get this, more information) with incisive questions about what the original poster (OP) might have shoved into the margins. Some readers will label the OP with a firm YTA (‘you’re the asshole’) just for obviously leaving things out and skewing the narrative. 

These readers have learned to be skeptical, whether from experience or from taking in the hallowed lore of the AITA archives. Some posters treat the forum (aka subreddit or sub) as a creative writing space, while others have been caught in their lies by a counterpart showing up in the comments to reveal a missing side of the story. I’m unapologetic about how much I enjoy those — here’s a classic where the OP tries to present himself as a really good friend married to an irrationally jealous partner, and then panics when said partner pops in to sound off about the affair OP’s having with that really good friend. 

I mean! 

Here’s what I think we can learn:

1. Reducing yourself to your most one-note version is neither interesting nor relatable 

2. Messy is so much better to read than neat

Honestly, there are more lessons and I’d love to hear what you’re finding, but consider those two as a starter. What is a story about how good and well-behaved you are really about? How did you learn or change? Why should a reader stick with you through this journey if it’s just a walk around the cul-de-sac of your smart choices? 

I’m not saying that you need to have a sensational series of catastrophic events just to have a story worth telling. I love a quiet story. But, like the Hannah Grieco quote above, I want to know what is true. And the truth is always messy. 

I'm running a writing support community in January called Write Start — you'll get 30 days of prompts, mindset shifts to help you write more in 2024, live sessions for connecting with other writers, and a 40-minute call to strategize with me. With early bird pricing, you'll pay $59. Get all the details and see other payment options here.

PS: Please share your quiet stories and essays with me, or your favorite examples of those more ordinary moment stories! I always like expanding what I offer in workshops — and I’ve been reading so many Totally Unique Experience stories that I feel a bit boring.