Maybe I need a retreat. This one looks really perfect. Would that make me establish better routines for my writing? Would it feed my soul, inspire and infuse me with the discipline that I am lacking?
Are there ever days, when you think perhaps, perhaps you aren’t a writer, after all? Or is that just me? Or is it normal? Is it normal, for writers to have that dream of having “the writing life”, being focused on their writing, and solidly claiming time FOR their writing…yet falling short? Is it normal having days that go by, and the writing has been hit or miss, (some days missing, altogether) and realizing at day’s end, the loss? Or is this just something that I am having all manner of doubt and anxiety over? Is this just me?
This conundrum has arisen due to a couple of things. First, of course, it is the New Year…with its promises, its clear slate. The perfect time for a setup. Each Dec. 31st, my list is created with determination and eagerness. Don’t we all feel the expansive opportunity that a fresh new year brings? My list, I have discovered, starts out with the same top three things. Writing is always number one, as it has reigned the past 30 years. Each list about the same, as every other year. Write daily, work on novel, get it edited, edit the OTHER novels…publish. Write two blogs a week, etc. etc. etc.
Yet, those goals, are seldom met, and my novels languish…waiting for my attention. I start, I stop, I pause. The pages on the calendar rush by, and my writing slows down.
Things happen. I know this, and at the time, I usually have a logical answer to explain my behavior. Then, the troubling reminders begin to pop up: YOU ARE NOT WRITING.
You are a writer, and if you are…you should be writing!
I get side-tracked by politics, by budgets, by work drama, by the business of life. I am hampered by flighty thoughts I can’t control, which have my brain either monkey-dancing, or slogged into a muddle. Illness, moving, company, housekeeping, budgets…distractions…and often, the call to walk the beach…..
Maybe, I need a retreat. To go away, be left alone, and write. Write. Maybe I simply do not have enough time. I resent the job I have to do right now, to bring in funds to keep us sheltered, when I could be writing. It steals forty hours from my life, each week during my most productive time. I lose energy, drive, and creativity in the latter part of the day, and even more so, with this job. I know this is one problem, but it is not the sum..I could find the time, if I truly was committed, I tell myself. Other writers have more obligations, and they do it. Is this just me?
I am now questioning it all. Should I continue to dream this writing dream, if I can not seem to get my butt into the chair, consistently? Can I find the time this year, and when I do, will I? Why haven’t I?
Do I have anything to say to the world? Can I say any of it well? Am I kidding myself? Is it that I am delusional or just lack confidence? Do I know this craft at all, and if so, why can’t I get the conflict resolved in my story? Am I overthinking the psyche of a writer, or just reaching too far?
Is what I am really after…after all… is the IDEA of being a writer?
Heavy questions. Tough questions. At least, for me. I have called myself a writer since grade school. I love to write.
Maybe a retreat…..it is certainly delicious to consider….but maybe not. Maybe I just need to fight through this ditch I happen to be wallowing in…and get back to writing. Let it happen. Whatever, it is.
What I do know, is I have written today. I am doing this blog post. I am going to open those pages, and finish one chapter. While I am still fighting the little voices that urge me to stop since I have so many other things to do, all important, silly things that seem to be beckoning with growing intensity…
What I want to do, right now, is Write Right Now.