Interview with Lauren Sapala, Writing Coach and author of The INFJ Writer

This interview is with Lauren Sapala, a writing coach who specializes in personal growth and artistic development for introverted intuitive writers. She is the author of The INFJ Writer and currently blogs on writing, creativity and personality theory at www.laurensapala.com. She lives in San Francisco. I learned a lot from this interview, and I think, you will too!  

Hello Lauren. We know that you are a writer as well as a writing coach. You are also the creative force behind www.laurensapala.com, your lovely website where you talk about writing and how the writing process works for Sensitive Intuitives. Can you tell us a little bit about your own journey as a creative person?

My own journey as a creative person was an extremely rocky one—at least in the early years! I was in love with poetry when I was very young and wrote a lot of it, but then I stopped writing after I got into an abusive relationship in high school. I tried to start writing again in college by taking a creative writing class and my professor basically told me that I wasn’t very good at it and I should seriously think about taking up something else. I was crushed. I stopped writing completely until I was 27 years old, when I found a support group for writers based on the Alcoholics Anonymous format in San Francisco. I wrote my entire first book in that group, and when the group dissolved I started my own group. Then I started my blog and then I began coaching writers. I experienced so much fear and doubt at every step of the journey that I sometimes can’t believe I kept taking steps.

I just finished reading your book The INFJ Writer. In it, you talk extensively about how the writing process works for INFJs. You also talk about other NF types — INFPs, ENFPs and ENFJs — and how the writing process works for them. As an INFP writer, I really enjoyed your book. How did this book come into being? Can you tell us a little more about your experience of writing it?  

I had been studying the MBTI system extensively for a few years, mainly by sifting through every article I could find on the internet. When I started my blog I wrote a few blog posts for INFJ writers and these posts took off. Even a year or two later I was still getting daily hits on the blog for these particular articles about the INFJ writing process. And then when I started taking on clients I found that almost every one of them had found me through one of these articles. That’s when I knew I was onto something. There was such a void in this area. I had been searching for years for more knowledge, and I knew other INFJs and INFPs were searching too. That’s when I knew I had to write the book.

The actual experience of writing the book was tough. My son was about six months old and he refused to sleep through the night. So I had been sleep deprived for six months. I also was still working my full-time day job at a startup in Silicon Valley. I was beyond exhausted. But this actually really helped me. I wrote one chapter a day and I was so sleep deprived that I didn’t even have the energy to pick at it, edit it, question it, nothing. All I had in me was the strength to write just that one chapter a day. Then I put the whole thing in a drawer for six months and forgot about it. When I pulled it out again I was getting regular sleep and was in a much better frame of mind to start the editing process.

What sets you apart as a writing coach is that you understand that the writing process for deep, intuitive writing is not a linear process. NF types don’t approach writing in 1-2-3 steps (although sometimes we might). In the book, you mention an exercise that you recommend to clients who are writing fiction that I would like to share here. You tell your clients to listen to music and then make a playlist that consists of songs that bring up images and intuitive hits. The next step for them is to divide these playlists up by character, and then listen to this music in private and note down the images and feelings that float up. They have to simply pay attention as their characters start speaking to them. This is such a lovely intuitive exercise and an approach that we are so rarely taught – a way allowing things instead of forcing things.            

How did you learn to trust this intuitive way? What would you say to Sensitive Intuitives who are struggling with this?

The music exercise comes from my own personal experience. I have always been “haunted” by certain songs at different times in my life. The rhythm of the song, the words, a certain phrase of it will play over and over in my head almost as if it’s on a loop. During my alcoholic years after college I met a lot of poets and we would get to talking about creative process and the way the brain works and so many of these poets would describe to me the exact same experience I had of being “haunted” by music, usually with a clear, very striking image making an appearance in the mind at some point. And we intuitively knew that the image was everything. That one image was the seed of the poem, or the “jewel center” of the prose, as Kerouac might describe it.

When I began coaching I took these experiences and made them into an exercise to use with my clients, and every writer I worked with responded so strongly and successfully to it that I knew this was finally something that worked for intuitive writers. My advice for intuitive writers who are still struggling is to experiment with listening to music while you watch scenes from movies you love with the sound off. Pairing the music with the heightened emotion you feel from the movie is an amazing way to truly tap into your intuition.

I loved the way in which you talked about the dilemma that every creative person faces — the difference between our artistic vision and our artistic reality. You talk about how the images and intuitions that we first access when we begin work are packed full of information. We know what the whole picture looks like. But as we start unpacking this image, start describing it in words, we end up feeling like we are not capturing the essence of that first image. As an INFP writer, I resonated deeply with this. I feel like I am always coming up short of this vision in my head. You suggest that we, as writers, start learning to accept the Here-and-Now version of our books. How do you practice this acceptance in your own creative life? It seems such a hard thing to do on a day-to-day basis, especially when we are in the middle of doubting ourselves. How can we find meaning in this imperfect process instead of always longing for realizing our perfect vision?

Well, it is a hard thing to do. And it’s never going to be a case of, “Now I know how to do that and I’m just not worried about it anymore. It’s almost like I magically turned into an ESTJ.” Intuitive personalities, in my opinion, will always carry some degree of anxiety. Every single thing on this earth comes with pros and cons. The anxiety and perfectionism of the intuitive type are just a couple of the more challenging things that come included in the whole package of what we are. What is essential is that we put our energy into learning self-awareness as an ongoing practice. Then when we become anxious, hyper-vigilant, lost in an emotional sea, controlling, perfectionistic—as we inevitably will—we can recognize what’s happening, let go of the self judgment, and start working with whatever grounding practice we’ve found to be the best fit that will bring us back into our bodies and help us shift into a safe internal space.  

The other part of this “always falling short of the image” consternation artists so commonly feel is to just keep pushing through, doing the work, and gathering the experience of being an artist. Because the longer you work at your art, the more your spirit will begin to understand that not only is it okay to fall short, but sometimes what you deem to be your “failure” is actually exactly what the work was supposed to be. William Faulkner said that he tried to write the story of The Sound and the Fury four times and failed each time, and that failure is the book we see today. He also only sold 3300 copies of The Sound and the Fury in the first 15 years after publication. But that book is cited as one of the greatest masterpieces of all time by literary scholars, so we can see how even if a writer believes they have produced a “failure” the readers of that work might feel the exact opposite.

As an INFP, I think I feel the most authentic when I share a personal story that connects with a larger truth. My writing veers towards “confessional” writing. Over the years, different people have had different reactions to that. Some think that it is “too personal” to tell certain things or that you are not putting up a strong front if you reveal certain things. While I think that too (that some things are too personal), this issue always feels complicated to me. I feel this deep paradox — I am an intensely private person and yet, there are parts of my experience that I want to share. Sometimes, it feels like the personal needs to be aired out. Sometimes, I think that I will no longer survive as a member of “polite society” if I really write honestly. This is something that I am defining for myself, so I would love to hear your thoughts on this.

In your book, you talk about honesty and how the most honest writers experience both the most love and connection as well as the most backlash. Since we are sensitive people and do care about criticism, how can we handle our fear when we really start opening up our expression?

This is a part of the writing process that really comes under the heading of “personal growth” for most writers. Expressing ourselves honestly, in any form, is going to bring reactions from other people. Even if you just casually announce in the break room at your office that you don’t like Earl Grey tea, you will get a reaction from others. Some people will think you’re crazy, some people will try to change your mind, some people will feel judged because they were the ones who brought the Earl Grey tea into the office in the first place, and on and on. You can’t escape it. A lot of introverts try to avoid this type of conflict by withholding their preferences and opinions—donning the “invisibility cloak” as I like to call it—but this ultimately doesn’t work very well because introverts and HSPs are incredibly intense personalities who actually hold a lot of very strong opinions on just about everything. So there’s this constant push-pull struggle we see where the introvert is simultaneously trying to avoid everyone’s attention while also feeling a burning need to express themselves in a passionate, authentic way to the world at large.

And that’s where the personal growth comes in. All we can do as introverts, as intuitives, and as human beings, is be willing to be uncomfortable as other people have their reactions around us. Their reactions won’t last forever. I’ve learned from my almost-two-year-old son that people can only scream and whine for so long before they get bored and move onto something else. Sooner or later, the subject of Earl Grey tea will get dropped and new subjects will be introduced. And then everyone will be busy having a new reaction.

One thing that stood out to me while I was reading The INFJ Writer was when you said that we Idealist NF types “are writing to help people.” The reason it stood out was because over the past year or so, I have come across the idea that you should not try to help people as a writer, that it is in some way conceited to want to do that. Some writers think that you should write for your own sake. But for me, this helping is not about unhealthy fixing or rescuing. It is more like sharing something I might have learnt freely. What do you think? What would you say to people who say it is a little presumptuous to want to write to help other people?

I think the people who say that it’s presumptuous to want to write to help people have some issue of their own around that. Maybe someone told them something to that effect at one time and they internalized it and now feel threatened when someone else stands up and says, “Hey, I want to write to help people!” I mean, there are countless other worse things someone could be doing with their time. If a person wants to write to help people, I think that’s amazing.

I do understand, too, that writers should write for themselves. I’ll use William Faulkner again as an example here. Faulkner had written three novels, the first one of which did very well and the next two of which really didn’t. He said that he felt relief after that third novel because he knew then that the door between him and the publishers “had closed for good” and he didn’t have to worry about them anymore, he could just write for himself. That’s when he wrote the first section of The Sound and the Fury, which is told from the point of view of a severely mentally disabled man. That first section is extremely demanding on the reader, but it’s one of the most beautiful experiences with literature that I have ever had. Reading The Sound and the Fury (and I’ve read it three times, if that tells you what an impact it’s had on me) helped me immensely as a writer, and as a person. It gave me hope, inspired me, pushed me to examine my own morality, and helped me cultivate empathy toward other human beings. So I think that oftentimes, even when a writer thinks he is only writing for himself, he is still helping others.

At one point in the book, you talk about how writers may dream of going off into the woods, of being a hermit, but that in reality, this does not work for NF types. You say that someone like an INTJ might pull that off, but all NF types need to alternate solitude with interactions with people they love in order to thrive. I don’t know why I never thought of this (maybe because I was over-identifying with being an introvert), but this was a click for me. Are there ways in which your creative work has improved because of this? Was there a time when you did not do this?

Yes, when I first discovered the big online introvert movement I was so relieved to find that I wasn’t just a complete weirdo that my pendulum swung all the way over into introvert-land and I pushed away a lot of my people-seeking tendencies. There was a part of me that felt that if I was a REAL introvert, I would never miss people and I would always want solitude. But then when I started my own side business I started reading books on creative entrepreneurs and realized just how much I shared in common with these type of people (the kind who like to network) as well. The fact of the matter is that I’m very, very good at relationships. To me, they are everything. I read literature because I’m insatiably curious about how other people see the world. I write because I’m desperately committed to communicating what the world means to me, to others. Being so strongly relationship-oriented doesn’t mean that I’m an extrovert. I still process everything as an introvert, but I have to work from my heart and in order to do that I need deep, meaningful, long-term connections with others. This is why I love the MBTI system so much, because it recognizes that all introverts are not alike. There can be a huge difference between an INFP and an ISTP, for example.

On a related note, do you think writers would benefit from doing work/full-time jobs that don’t involve skills related to writing? For example, when I think of working at a job that involves writing or editing skills, such as copy editing, it leaves me kind of cold. Do you think that has to do with how much meaning you make in a job or does it have more to do with the fact that you are using low-level writing skills? Or is it both?

What kind of things would you recommend writers keep in mind when they look for paid work, so that it can support their writing and not drain them?

Mmm…this is a good question. I think it comes down to two key factors: levels of creativity and meaning. Intuitive artists need very high levels of creativity to keep them engaged long term with a job. So, if they’re doing about an hour of routine copyediting in the morning, but then a lot of the rest of the day they get to brainstorm with colleagues who inspire them, or they get to test games and experiment with ideas, that could work out just fine. If they’re doing nothing BUT copyediting all day, every day, the highly creative personality is not going to last long in this situation. They will end up wanting to put pins in their eyes and being eaten alive with resentment.

And then there is the meaning piece. The question for intuitive personalities is always WHY am I doing this? Why are WE doing this? What’s the point? If the copyediting is being done on a website that helps young women and girls achieve freedom and independence in socially repressive cultures, you bet that intuitive artist is going to be a lot happier copyediting for hours than if the whole point is just to get people to sign up for credit cards. If the meaning behind the task aligns with the values of the intuitive writer you would be astounded at the trials they will push through to get it done, day after day.

I recommend that writers look for work that interests them above all. It could be anything. Washing dishes in a restaurant, working as a stockbroker, or doing volunteer work in Ethiopia. Anything that the writer feels pulled toward, they should pursue, regardless of the paycheck or what other people might say about it. If something is pulling on them that strongly, there is a reason for it.

In The INFJ Writer, you also talk about the dynamics between different NF writers. For example, you talk about how INFPs and ENFJs can be great writing buddies, with the ENFJ providing warm encouragement and the INFP being an attentive listener. This got me thinking about another NF dynamic. I am an INFP, and my sister is an INFJ. She also loves to write. I have always thought that I would write fiction, and she has always been the analytical type who I can imagine writing  nonfiction. A few years ago, she started writing a blog where she was writing a sort of INFP-type writing — imaginative and whimsical. This challenged my very fixed beliefs (the INFP inferior function, haha) and nudged me into thinking that I could try my hand at more nonfiction. In fact, right now, all my writing projects are nonfiction projects. Do you find this dynamic in your clients where they limit themselves by labeling themselves? Do you think there is a difference between how INFPs and INFJs write different genres, approach writing fiction or nonfiction, for example?

Oh, of course we limit ourselves through labels. This is something we ALL do, not just NF types. Every single person functions with a set of beliefs that help them and hinder them. If a person is really interested in changing up their belief systems, the best thing they can do is to seek out the things they disagree with, the things they are sure they “don’t like.” Read biographies on people you disapprove of, learn more about a topic that you have strong negative judgments on. I was always convinced that I hated business and marketing. This year I’ve been busy plundering the business shelves at my local library and I’m constantly embarrassed to find out that every one of my negative beliefs about this area came out of nothing but fear and my own feelings of inferiority. I was scared of everything this topic entailed and thought that I could never be “good at it” so I shot it down and convinced myself that everything related to business is vaguely evil.

I have seen INFJs AND INFPs write everything under the sun—fiction, nonfiction, poetry, sci-fi, fantasy, erotica, memoir, essays. You name it, someone is writing it, no matter what their personality type.

I think INFP writers will find your book inspiring. You talk about how INFPs are extremely driven, just not about the kinds of things most people devote their ambition to, such as worldly success. They approach the world through what feels right, and so, when you work with your INFP clients, you recommend that they think of their work on their writing like working on a mosaic. You tell them to write what they are emotionally drawn to writing that day. I can imagine how this would be enormously freeing to any INFP writer. We can be our own selves, do things our own way. We can collect pieces for our mosaic, and put them together in the end.

The question I have though is one related to doubt: Can we get lost in picking up the wrong pieces? Is there danger of picking up unrelated pieces that don’t make sense in the end? Or is this just fear related to changing our approach to something different, something new (but right for us)?

I believe there are no wrong pieces. There are pieces that are sharp and ugly, and pieces that don’t make sense or seem to fit anywhere for a long, long time, but there are no wrong pieces. Finding the pieces, gathering them, having faith that the right piece has come to you at the right time—this is all about trusting the Universe. And that’s something a writer has to reconcile within themselves. No one can tell you where to find your next piece, although a great many people are willing and ready to tell you that the piece you’re working on right now is “wrong” or a mistake in some way, or not the piece they would choose to work on or the way they would work it anyway. All of that is just noise. The truth is that every writer knows—really KNOWS—deep inside themselves how to find the pieces they need and where they fit. THIS is the real process of writing. The trust, and the patience for the pieces to show up, and the brave willingness to let them in.

Thank you for sharing your work! Is there anything else you might want to say to the writers out there struggling to find their voices?

The last thing I’d like to say is that I think it’s most helpful for writers to frame their experience with writing as a growth process, instead of a goal-oriented process. Once we embrace it as a growth process we’re much more willing to accept backward steps, mistakes, awkward parts and forgiveness as all part of the experience of writing.

Growth is never easy, but it is always worth it.

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