Writing With Your Enemies

Making use of your nemeses, underminers and foes

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Craft: Let’s talk about harnessing some negative energy

I’ll admit it: I’m a grudge-holder.  And while I’ve sometimes worried that my habit of collecting foes might not be among my better impulses, I’ve come to recognize that choosing good enemies has made me a better writer.

I’m not the first to discover this: essayist, memoirist and Twitter pro Roxane Gay is famous for her writing and notorious for her collection of nemeses. In “The Pleasure of Clapping Back,” she writes “I have ten nemeses—people who have slighted me in ways both real and imagined who are now mortal adversaries I must defeat.” They range from the absurd—Crossfit—to the petty—Rachel Maddow, because her girlfriend loves to watch her—to the motivational: an unnamed handful whose professional accomplishments “give you purpose…hone your ambition.”

But nemeses aren’t the only category of enemy that can push you to improve your writing: I’d argue underminers and foes can propel you to greater heights as well.

The nemesis

“I can’t believe he’s published another column!” I was a 30-something freelancer when I collected my first nemesis, an insufferable bow-tie-wearing right-winger with a British accent who seemed to appear in the pages of every publication I picked up. This was the 1990s, and publications were still largely pulp-bound, perfect for hurling across the room in frustration. (I think there’d be less online trolling if we could safely pitch laptops and smartphones to land with a satisfying but harmless “whump.”) As I complained to a friend about “that pompous jerk” and his latest byline, she cut me off: “Well, what have you pitched lately?” she said. Her message: stop whining and focus on winning. I became a pitch machine, and in the year that followed, landed a columnist gig of my own at a publication with a circulation well beyond where he was writing. Since then, I’ve used professional jealousy (hey, even highly unprofessional jealousy) to motivate me to send out queries, aim for bigger projects and imagine my way to work that is more satisfying.

And here’s the thing: my nemeses have never known they’re on my hit list. I’m polite to them when we meet in public. I even like some of them in person. In fact, my closest friends don’t know their names. But they remain a private source of professional fuel for me. Like Gay, I’m not setting out to destroy them with underhanded tricks or libellous musings: I want to beat them the old-fashioned way—by out-writing them.

Compete to defeat

Choose your nemesis wisely: Nemesis selection is a bit like choosing the right tennis partner—you want someone(s) good enough to motivate you to sharpen your serve and stretch for that return, not someone so much better that you’re left standing still as they fire ace after ace right past you. Select a nemesis who is doing just “that much” better than you—and when you surpass them, look for someone else just up ahead to replace them.

Don’t bitch, pitch: Ticked off by your nemesis’ latest triumph? Stop subtweeting, study her success, and then dig into your idea bank and develop a pitch.

The underminer

Who’s whispering “You can’t write that!” in your ear? For memoirists in particular, those closest to us might be holding us back, afraid of the family secrets we’ll spill or the unseemly behaviour we’ll expose to the neighbours. But there are other whisperers as well whose voices can halt writers of all types: the Grade Four teacher who told you your writing lacked imagination, or the high school English teacher who accused you of plagiarizing because he didn’t believe someone like you could have written something like that.

MacArthur Genius grant recipient George Saunders confessed he felt his admission to the Syracuse Creative Writing was “a clerical error” and that he “didn’t quite have the intellectual guns that a lot of other students had.” Multi-memoirist Dani Shapiro writes in her book Still Writing: The Perils and Pleasures of a Creative Life that her inner censor whispers “This is stupid. What a waste of time…. What a dumb idea. How boring…” and “has been in residence on my left shoulder for so many years that it’s a wonder I’m not completely lopsided.” [pp. 12-13]

But here’s the thing: as a writing teacher, I know some students display a confidence not matched by their work, so convinced are they that their first draft is golden. In their opening sentences, you can almost hear the chef’s kiss popping off the screen, gradually losing its self-congratulatory air as the clichés, half-finished thoughts and stale insights float into view. That shoulder-saboteur might be a troll, but unbridled confidence isn’t a writer’s friend either. It’s a delicate balance: listen to the troll and you’ll never write, listen to the cheerleader and what you do get down might not be right.

Sideline the whisper network

Nod hello and write on: As with an annoying drip that once heard can’t be ignored, simply turning your back on your inner critic is unlikely to work. Instead, acknowledge—and keep writing anyway. “Try managing her with corporate-speak: Thanks for reaching out, but can I circle back to you later?” suggests Shapiro. Get the words on the page first, then deal with your critic.

Tune in—selectively: When you’re at the editing and revising stage, grab a pen and a blank sheet of paper and let your troll loose: write down every word he whispers. Next, fire back: Cross out the imprecise critiques (This is stupid, what a waste of time…) but circle any that might have substance (That’s a lazy metaphor, you’re losing your reader here…). Tune out the troll, tune in your inner editor.

Negotiate in good faith: But what about those voices hoping to stop you from sharing the goods on the family bads? Or those arguing this isn’t your story to tell? Listen, reflect, discuss: they may be right. Are the details on the page essential to the story that is yours to tell? Are you using your privilege to mine someone else’s experiences for your benefit, professionally or financially? Interrogate yourself and your intentions to ensure your motivations are defensible.

The foe

Author Dorothy Allison puts it this way: “When I began, my audience was my mother and sisters. But at the same time, there was this overwhelming sense that the world did not understand or approve of us, and that became an audience. You can write against that. You can write to say to that audience, ‘You don’t know who we are.’ That’s one of the great beginnings for any story: ‘You don’t know what it was like. Let me tell you.’ That audience doesn’t have to be approving and friendly. It can be very adversarial, and that’s strong.”

I think of the audience that Allison is describing as the foe: those we are trying to shake up, show up or shut up. It’s great to know who you’re writing for—your mom, your sisters, your community—but knowing who you’re writing against can supercharge your prose and push you to make your arguments stiletto-sharp.

Prepare for battle

Tackle it head-on: Struggling to set out your argument? Use Allison’s phrase to get you going: Write “You don’t know what it’s like. Let me tell you.” and make your case.

Picture the enemy: Is there someone on “the other side” whose position is most clearly in opposition to yours? Post their picture on your bulletin board and craft your arguments with their counterpoints in mind, bulletproofing your piece as you go.

Fuel your fire

As you build your list of motivating enemies, don’t forget to cultivate connections to more supportive types as well: writing pals, research buddies, creative inspirations. They’ll help ignite your positive creative impulses—and who knows, perhaps every once in a while, you can gather around a fire and share a cackle about defeating your foes!

Obligatory photo of Buddy

“If you think you’re going anywhere without me, you’re wrong.”

The stuff at the bottom

I’m a writer, editor and teacher. This is my personal e-newsletter on the craft of writing nonfiction, sprinkled with occasional feminism and social justice. You can find out more about me on my website at kimpittaway.com. You can also find me on Facebook. I’m a cohort director in the MFA in Creative Nonfiction limited residency program at the University of King’s College in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada. If you’re interested in writing a nonfiction book, you should check our program out! (And hey, we just added a limited residency MFA in Fiction as well, taught by some of my amazing colleagues!)

And finally

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