A Case for Owning Your Weird in Your Writing

For the ones who fear their creative vision is too much

Have you seen this year’s “Best Picture” Everything Everywhere All at Once? I came across this letter from its creators over the weekend, which is too good not to share and has excellent advice for writers (whether you’ve seen the film or not). 

In their letter, the Daniels (as they are known) disclose the origin story of this award-winning, instant-hit script: it began with feeling the “too-much” of life and all its contradictions. It was 2016. So they wrote into that feeling, and wrote, and wrote, and reinvented, and rewrote some more. 

They wanted their film to change lives, to “touch infinity.” They knew their vision was ambitious, and on a shoestring budget, even going so far as to say, “Writing Everything Everywhere All At Once was a foolish prayer to a cold, indifferent universe.” 

But they held to their big vision and held nothing back. In their words: 

“We realized if we were going to make a film and ask an audience to give us that precious time, the only responsible thing to do in return was to blow their minds and change their lives forever.” 

Here’s a word for writers of all kinds: the best way to honor the gift of  your readers’ attentions is to give your work all you’ve got. 

And give it all they did—the end result of the film, if you’ve seen or if not you’ve probably at least heard, is outrageous. It’s over the top, maxed out to the near-miss of its breaking point. It flirts with the edge of absurdity. 

Yeah, it has the usual storyline stuff of tension between mothers and daughters, a failing marriage, failing business and a villainous tax auditor. But then the story enters the multiverse, and the script turns into a wild mixology project serving up racoon hibachi chefs, googly eyed rock characters, parallel universe husbands and daughters, and an everything bagel that stands as a vortex of nihilism threatening the world as we know it. 

If this sounds like a wild ride, it is—the film is not just absurd, it’s elaborate  in its absurdity. I have amused myself just trying to imagine its initial elevator pitch. 

And its story moved me. It spoke to me. And apparently many, as evidenced in its top ratings and Academy Awards sweep including “Best Picture.” It’s now recognized as one of the most financially and critically successful independent films in recent memory.

So why am I talking about a film in a newsletter for writers? Because Everything Everywhere All At Once—from its title to its final scene showdown—is unapologetically odd, and that’s exactly what makes it work. 

When you find your courage to own your weird, to honor the “too much-ness” of your vision and let it lead you into strange, wondrous places, you will find your creative expression unleashed into new landscapes.

You will discover what your voice sounds like when it is freed from the constraints of the conventional. You will find the strong angle, the unique slant, you’ve been looking for. 

Let the weird lead you, and take the time to do the work, as these directors did, refining and reworking their concept for the better part of a decade (it must be said that “weird” takes time and effort to refine, sure). But don’t shy away from the strange, because that’s what makes your work memorable. That’s what makes it stand out. 

Consider these first-wave rejections of what we now know as classic works of literature: 

Herman Melville’s Moby Dick: “First, we must ask, does it have to be a whale?”

Madeleine L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time: “Distinctly odd.” 

Alice Walker’s The Color Purple: “We were bothered by your decision to end every sentence with an exclamation point...extremely jarring.” 

Can you imagine if these authors had, you know, toned it down a bit? We would have no white whale, no Mrs. Whatsit, no excess of exclamation points. 

We would have a sad, plain bagel—void of sesame and poppy seed, void of imaginative possibility itself. 

I’ve saved the best part of the Daniels’ letter for last: 

“So now after many years of miracles piling onto miracles, the movie is coming out in theaters everywhere. Working on this film has been one of the most beautiful and fulfilling experiences of our lives.”

Hold up, and hear this out: they wrote this before opening weekend, before any Oscar nominations, reviews, or Best Picture awards. 

I can’t tell you that if you stay true to your weird your writing will win awards and break records. But here’s what I want us to hear from this: When you give your all to your too-much, over-the-top, borderline-ridiculous idea, the creative work becomes its own reward, no matter what the public reception is. Hold on to that, and you will stay just as grounded in the release of your work as you were enlivened in the creation of it.

Until next time,

Take heart. Write on. You got this.

If you’ve found something that speaks to you here…

Please pass it on! This letter is this editor's off-hours labor of love. Your word of recommendation is how our little community grows.

P.S. // A Blessing for Writers

SLANT LETTER is about both craft + soul care for the creative life. So for each issue, I want to speak this blessing for all of us anxious, ambitious, internet-exhausted writing folk.