Day 4, Winter 2025, Mini 1000

Keep pushing.

Hi friends.

Today, for the fourth day in a row, we will write 1000 words. Together. Because this is how we figure things out. When we sit down and spend time on the page, with our words and ideas and feelings, we’re trying to hammer through something. Some little (or big) problem that needs to be solved. Maybe the problem is an answer to a big existential question. Maybe the problem is a curious or troubling life event that will remain a mystery until we unpack it. Maybe the problem is how we make this interesting and innovative structure to our project properly work. And maybe it’s just: Am I even capable of finishing this thing in the first place? (We are.) Now let’s go figure out our shit today. 1000 words at a time.

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If you’d like to support me personally, I have written 10 books, including 1000 WORDS (which comes out in paperback tomorrow!) or you can subscribe.

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Today’s letter comes from my generous and hilarious buddy, Kristen Arnett, literary life advisor, and author of the great and beloved novels With Teeth, and Mostly Dead Things, which was a New York Times bestseller. Kristen is also the author of what I predict will be received as the funniest book of 2025, Stop Me If You've Heard This One, which is about a lesbian birthday party clown. I describe the book as feeling simultaneously like a cult classic and bestseller because I think it will read like “it was written just for me”—but to so many people. (Pre-order it here.)

Today Kristen talks to us about when to research and when to write.

“I started off the new year by googling a bunch of shit.

One of the few notes on ‘craft’ that I ever feel qualified to mention is the fact that you can’t let your research get in the way of your writing. Most of the time, I strongly feel like I don’t know what I’m talking about when it comes to literary intention, but research versus writing feels important. You can’t let it overpower the work, or else your book turns into a how-to manual. Do I heed my own advice? Occasionally. But most of the time I let my bored brain do whatever it wants.

And what it usually wants to do is fuck around on Wikipedia.

As a librarian, I’m always excited to learn something new. When I began writing my debut novel, Mostly Dead Things, I was struck by the fact that I had selected a subject – taxidermy – that I knew nearly nothing about.

I mean, sure, I’d been around taxidermy my whole life. I grew up in Florida and was raised in a conservative, religious household. I had family members who hunted and subsequently kept their trophies. I’d seen fish and deer mounted on the walls of my own home. But it turns out that I knew little about the actual process of preservation. The opportunity to dig into some really juicy (pun intended) research? All the pleasure receptors in my brain zinged to bright, vibrant life. I spent the next three months looking up every website, video, and paper manual I could get my hands on. InterLibrary Loaned dozens of books. Bought some, too. Perused web forums and chat rooms. Spent hours in taxidermy shops and asked one million questions and talked about gutting until I’m sure everyone but me was sincerely sick of the subject matter.

For my upcoming novel, I got to research a not insignificant number of facts about clowns. I watched videos, I took notes. I did my homework. But at the end of the day, I knew I could go into my word document and put something together about clowning all on my own, if I felt like it. It only required that I lean into everything I already knew about humor and comedy.

But like all good things, for both books, research had to come to an end. I realized that I was allowing myself to get swept away in the fun of suddenly knowing something new. It meant that at times – let’s be honest, most of the time – I was using research as a way to keep myself from writing. Research was quantifiable; it was the attainable element. Writing, on the other hand, was something blank and alien. It was the bare page with nothing on it. In order to write my book, I had to let go of the research. I had to trust what I’d learned, then dive headfirst into the unknown.

It might be time for you to let go of the research reins, too. C’mon, it’ll be fun. Why not join me in writing something wildly, strangely new?

Close up Wikipedia. Open your document. And let’s get to work.”

You heard it!

Jami

You are reading Mini 1000, an infrequent newsletter encouraging you to write from Jami Attenberg. My main newsletter is Craft Talk. I’m also on bluesky and instagram.