“I Don’t Have Time To Write” and Other Baldfaced Lies
Because I’m never happiest than when I’m bossin’ people, let’s dispense with the fallacy that we “don’t have time to write.”
First, stop lying to yourself.
The accurate formulation of that sentiment is, “I’m choosing not to make writing a priority today.” That’s what you’re really saying. Which: fair! Sometimes life intervenes! Sometimes the cat dies. Sometimes the flu tornado hits the house. Sometimes Shit Happens (TM). Grownups have to make hard choices, and sometimes the writing must — must! — come second to All The Things.
But ask yourself: is it your schedule that’s keeping you from writing, or is it your fear?
If it’s your schedule, and you’re NOT in crisis, then either your writing is not important to you, or you’re using your schedule as an excuse because your writing is extremely important to you and you’re afraid if you start Actually Writing instead of Talking About Maybe Someday Writing, your writing will be terrible and you will be exposed as a Giant Fraud and a Failure (TM).
It’s not your schedule. Your schedule is fine. You have time to watch season 2 of The Crown. You have time to drink a second or third or tenth cup of coffee. You have time to read this stupid blog post (ha! caught you! you’re totally reading it right now!).
You don’t need two daily hours of exquisite, perfect time every morning with your mug handle angled just so and the faintest breeze ruffling the feathers of your quill for genius to arrive. You got twenty minutes? Ten? Two? You’re telling me you don’t have two minutes to put the oven timer on and just go? I bet if you have two minutes, you have four. Hey — maybe this is the month of the four-minute Haiku. But those haiku will never be born if you don’t write like hell today.
So let’s talk about the real issue.
What if your writing is terrible?
Let me save you the suspense: it is. It is really terrible. It’s as bad as you think. Worse! Your computer has an odor, your writing stinks so bad. And, AND, AAAAND: that’s part of the process. Again, please: THAT’S PART OF THE PROCESS. You have to allow yourself the freedom — nay, the luxury! — of writing really badly so that you can write well. If you never let yourself write badly, well, you’ll never write.
What if you had a sense of humor about yourself? What if you treated your inner writer like a lovable old coot who needs to Q-tip her ears and likes lemon meringue pie? What if you experimented with actually enjoying the process of writing rather than fearing it like it’s a daily judgement on your personal worth? What if you just started already?
Because we writers know that the hardest part of writing is starting. Once you start, what often can happen is you start thinking about the thing you’re writing and you forget momentarily that you’re (cue fanfare) Writing. You’re just writing. You’re having fun. You’re using your imagination. You’re screwing around.
Process is all. Enjoy the process. Or at least pretend long enough to get your butt in the chair.
Now excuse me while I spike all my sweater pockets with old butterscotch candies and travel tissues.
