In Bird by Bird, Anne Lamott pulls back the curtain and reveals the wizardry of writing. Or rather, she shines a light on the short, bald guy, who is fast at work in our minds trying to make it look like magic.

Many people have recommended Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott to me over the years. I’m a perfectionist who gets overwhelmed when faced with an impossibly large mountain to climb. I love the story that inspired her title - of her brother who when tasked with a massive report on birds, one that he started at the eleventh hour before it was due, was given the wise advice to take it “bird by bird, buddy.” One step at a time. Just begin.

Lamott’s book ended up being the perfect book for where I am in my writing arc. I’m rediscovering the joy of indulging in creative practice. I’ve always been a writer. I never let myself write. In my career, always for clients, never in my voice. Lamott gives sage advice on shitty first drafts, listening to your gut before being an adult got in the way, and how to deal with writer’s block by writing some shitty words then going on a walk. These were all things I needed to hear.

Her quirky insights on how simple subjects such as what you ate in elementary school lunches can lead to inspired material. Her passage on bagged lunches a la dad was one of the funniest things I’ve read in a long time. It’s true. Dads love apricot jam, and they are hilarious creatures. I’d pay good money to hear what Freud would surmise about mine. Dads are writing material gold as far as I’m concerned. But her point was not every father is a goldmine, but that personal gold can be extracted from everyday happenings and memories. 

In Bird by Bird, Anne Lamott pulls back the curtain and reveals the wizardry of writing. Or rather, she shines a light on the short, bald guy, who is fast at work in our minds trying to make it look like magic. Writing, after all, is not magic. Writing is human. Writing is visceral. And, in my favorite metaphor, Lamott likens writing as a sort of antidote to being haunted by our internal demons, saying,

Indeed this is true for my own snarling dogs. The act of allowing myself a writing practice has been a revelation of sorts. Understanding that having the creative impulse and a stream of ideas, and the ability to resupply each of these things is entirely within my control and is simple in practice. Write. Get the cobwebs out.  Let the word vomit flow. Occasionally there’s a funny line, or brilliant quip, or a string of words that impresses even me, my ever-present critic. There is always a seed for something else.  So this cure of writing is also a supplement or vitamin of sorts. The act of writing alleviates the symptoms that a born writer suffers from when not pursuing their vocation. Writing regularly also supplies the necessary food for the hungry creative beast. 

Lamott refers to writing as a discipline, a discipline that can breed liberation in its practitioner. I most definitely feel liberated and in more than one way. She started loosening the chains of my inner imposter who tries to convince me that there is one way to write and that I don’t have it. I found her casual, irreverent, almost defiantly informal style to be freeing. 

I don’t know what I was specifically looking for when I opened Bird by Bird, but I found a philosophy of writing that is both grand and also the stuff of the nuts and bolts of life. Lamott expresses why embarking on this long overdue practice matters so much to this burgeoning writer. She puts my “why” into perfect prose.

I have yet to meet a single writer who doesn’t gush over Bird by Bird. Which quotes and insights from Lamott’s seminal craft book speak to you?