The holiday season is a time for joy and forgiveness, which includes forgiving yourself for all those creative projects languishing in the back of your closet or in forgotten files on your computer. All those stories awaiting an ending. All those tiny scraps of paper sporting lines of dialogue. All those frustrated characters without an ending.
‘Tis the season for school assignments asking students what they are thankful for in their life. My son came home with just such an assignment and it made me think about what I was thankful for this year. It wasn’t hard to come up with an answer. It’s been a good year.
Time is the number one excuse given for not writing. People love excuses. They never end. I have a job. I have a family. I have a life. Where could they possibly find time to write a book? Where indeed?
Ideas are needy. They’re like flowers that cannot be rushed from seed to bloom. Like a flower needs good soil, sun, water and time, ideas need imagination, nourishment, and to exist in the real world on a page or screen. They also need time.
Ideas are everywhere. If you doubt that, just tell someone you’re a writer and they’re sure to respond with their “great” idea for a novel. (That tendency may be why I rarely tell people what I do for a living, but that’s another blog for another day.)
I have a friend who asked me recently what he should write, not because he did not have ideas, but because he had too many. I suggested he write what kept him up at night—the idea that begged to be put on the page, the one that would not let go. When he complained writing was difficult when he was distracted by the multitude of ideas I referred him to my favorite book about writing: Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Marie Rilke.
There are those who will try to convince you writer’s block exists, that it is a curse on writers the world over. I do not agree. There is no bad luck associated with writing. There is only the state of writing or not writing. The first is created by sitting down and stringing words together until they resemble sentences and then putting those sentences into paragraphs and repeating until you have a finished piece, or at least a rough draft.
We all procrastinate. Or nearly all of us and those who don’t are not normal, in my humble opinion.
Somehow the idea (or fact) of facing a blank page brings out the desire to do anything but that. Clean the fridge. The litter. Reorganize my LPs. It doesn’t matter. There always comes a time when in my writing when I feel compelled to do other things to avoid what I am writing. The problem with that is that writing is my career. If I avoid it, I don’t get paid.
Have you ever noticed when you have a good story to tell or a secret, your entire body tingles with the anticipation of sharing it? It is nearly impossible to keep it in. To guard it.
That is the nature of a story. It is how we feel when we start drafting our social media post while in the moment, like we are narrating our own life to an unknown audience. It is a bit wonky, but part of being a writer, I think.
One of the question asked most often of authors is “Where do you get your ideas?” Unfortunately, the answer is rarely helpful.
Ideas are everywhere. I find them on walks, in the shower, while listening to music, eavesdropping (a habit I have despite being taught it was impolite), driving. You get the idea. They lurk wherever life can be found.
Life is distracting. There is no doubt about that. Texts ding. Calls ring. Cats need petting. Children want food. There are so many distractions. Even ideas can be distractions.
There is something about the new and shiny that demands attention. Even new ideas. They are exciting and the urge to drop everything and follow where they lead is a strong one. Unfortunately, it is also a great way to end up with a hundred unfinished manuscripts.
At the beginning of summer my husband urged me to take a break from work, which surprised me. I am a stay-at-home-working mom. I make my own schedule so I can take care of our son. How was I supposed to take a break? Wasn’t my shorter work day enough?
He didn’t think so.