Wednesday, 4 February 2026

Shadows of the original: protecting your creative identity across languages

Translation is often celebrated as a bridge between cultures, a vital tool that allows a certain world to transcend linguistic boundaries. And this is true.

Translation and creative writing are closely linked, but switching between them is trickier than it looks. Writers who translate often let their own creative ego take over, accidentally rewriting the author's work instead of honoring it. On the other hand, translators who try to write original stories often get stuck in translator’s brain, where they are so focused on precision that they lose their own creative flow. If you don't keep these two roles separate, you might end up with a stylistic collision that weakens both the original message and your own unique voice.

Here’s how the practice of translation can interfere with your writing:

LINGUISTIC CROSS-CONTAMINATION

Imagine spending hours meticulously deconstructing sentences in German or Japanese to reconstruct them faithfully in English. Over time, that foreign syntax can begin to stain your brain, leading to what's often called translationese. This is not about grammatical errors; we talk about a style that feels subtly off, perhaps a little too formal or even robotic, despite being perfectly correct.

So, you might notice your own sentences beginning to adopt the word order, clause structure, or even the typical sentence length of the language you frequently translate. For instance, a steady diet of translating German literature might lead your English sentences to become denser, with more nested clauses than you’d naturally use.

Besides, you could find yourself inadvertently using phrases that are direct translations from other languages, which make perfect sense there but sound unnatural or awkward in your native tongue. Sometimes, we don't even notice we are doing it.

Finally, you could observe your characters moving, speaking and acting like German or Japanese people, even when they are speaking another language. That can be a side-effect of you being a translator, even a good one.

A COLLECTION OF BORROWED MASKS

A translator has as an ultimate goal transparency, that is, to become an invisible medium, reflecting the original intent and style of the author without imposing their own. 

While a noble pursuit for a translator, this habit of mimicry can make it incredibly challenging for a writer to find or maintain their distinct fingerprint, or voice, on the page.

You become so adept at adopting different voices and styles that your own writing starts to feel like a collection of borrowed masks rather than a singular, authentic perspective.

Moreover, your creative work may even borrow the structure and thematic of foreign works. While this is not inherently bad, it can stop you from being creative and trying to fix things on your own, in your own organic way. Besides, we don't always translate the best of works, and we may pick up bad writing habits from the texts we translate.

LEXICAL PARALYSIS

Translation is a highly analytical process, demanding precision and careful consideration of every word. This intense linguistic scrutiny can sometimes trigger a hyper-awareness that stifles the raw, intuitive, and often messy flow of a first draft.

For example, translators are intimately aware that no two words are ever perfect synonyms. This profound understanding, while crucial for their craft, can lead to a specific type of writer's block when applied to original work.

You might find yourself agonizing over a single adjective in your own novel for thirty minutes, because your translation training has conditioned you to see the hidden nuances, cultural baggage, and subtle connotations of every single word choice.

Ironically, for some, the opposite can happen. They might find their vocabulary shrinking, defaulting to safe, high-frequency words that are easily translatable, thus losing the vibrant slang, regionalisms, and unique idiom of their native dialect.

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Surely, the practice of translation is a powerful linguistic workout. While it can introduce challenges to our original voice, noticing these potential interferences is the first step toward harnessing its power while safeguarding our unique creative spirit as writers. 

I am not saying that translators cannot be excellent writers. On the contrary; people who expose themselves to different languages and cultures are people with a certain linguistic sensitivity that works miracles when it comes to creative writing. The clarity that we are able to achieve in our writing, for one thing, is not something that should be taken for granted. But the traps are inevitable. Beware.

So, sometimes it can be good to step back from your work as a translator, reconnect to your native language and culture, and embrace the full creativity that emerges from a writing practice only.

Do you agree?

Thanks for reading!


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