I first learned about elevenie poems when I lived in Germany and attended intensive German language classes. For many days I showed up with my classmates, studied the material, participated in exercises, and did my homework. I loved those classes because they clued me in to linguistic secrets and I inevitably also learned more about English as well.

A wrestling match with perfectionism can be debilitating to the point that nothing gets finished. On the other hand, if you know your writing could be better, when do you stop trying to improve a piece so you can let it go and move on? As a frequent rider on the perfectionism train, I know firsthand the effects of this particular struggle.

By the time the doorbell rings, I’ve assembled the apple crisp in the pan, the kitchen table is cleared and cleaned, and the radiator sends up cozy waves of warmth. My friend Annabel and I are trying something new today. We’re using each other’s company to forward our creative dreams.

The quest for a unique style can tie a writer in knots until nothing’s being written. Why write if the output is boring or is a copy of someone else’s style or is something anyone could have written? If there’s not enough pizzazz to the words, how likely are we to reel someone in?

When the thing you want to create resists the birthing process, consider cheating. I don’t mean copying someone else’s work and calling it your own, or forcing yourself into territory that’s unnatural for you. Instead, get proactive by enlisting the concept of the muse—your personal source of creative inspiration.

If you struggle to share your genuine self in your writing, you’re not alone. When I worked as a managing editor at a publishing company specializing in self-help books, I witnessed firsthand the internal conflict authors confronted as they tried to zero in on their messages.

I was minding my own business recently when someone close to me called me ignorant. I’d lapsed into a daze, slipped up, made a mistake, forgotten something important—because I’d been distracted by something more interesting. I’d chosen wonder over logic.