At the top of the options page for my blog, there are a bunch of buttons for me to choose from. You just hit the button , and you get where you want to go. Most of these have to do with editing previous entries or adding links but there is one I use more than the others. It’s the one that says “Write.” As I looked at the button menu today it occurred to me that my life has the same such buttons. Every day I have the choice to do any number of things. I suppose my buttons would look like this: “Work” “Read” “Watch TV” “Crafts/Cooking” “Shop” “Pet Cat” (new button) and there, at the end, looking a little dusty is the one that says “Write.”
I don’t choose this button very often. I wish I chose it more. It’s just as easy as the TV button to choose, yet most of the time it just sits there, unused. Why?
First of all, it’s hard. Really hard. Oh sure, hitting little keys is easy. Banging out something that’s not utter crap is hard. Telling my internal editor that it’s ok to take the day off is hard. Usually I get an idea, make some notes, and talk myself out of ever writing a word in about fifteen minutes. Plenty of time left over to read magazines.
Second, it repels me. It actually turns my senses off to think about the act of writing. While I do sort of make my living writing (editing) and being creative, most days it pains me to think about going to my job(s). I get all clammy at the thought of someone expecting something of me, even children. But ask me what else I’d rather be doing, and the answer is…nothing! I love what I do! I am very lucky. Still, I feel it’s not IMPORTANT, you know, the way other people’s jobs are IMPORTANT. I should be writing a script that’s MINE not editing what twelve year-olds write. The kids are like little sponges, but I’m morbidly afraid that they’ll discover my secret…I’ll share it with you…come closer…the secret is…I DON’T REALLY KNOW ANYTHING. Don’t tell!
Third, my great excuse for never working on anything is that I need more training. My grammar is not strong, I can’t remember any of the dramatic writing paradigms, I haven’t read enough. I’ll just get my (fill-in-the-blank) degree, and then I’ll start. I’ll take a class so strangers can tell me that I need stronger character arcs. I’ll read all of the collected works of Chekhov. Then I’ll DO it. I’ll write. (I probably still wouldn’t.)
I’m anxious right now, writing this, feeling like the tone is all wrong. Knowing that an entry about some thing less personal (my cat’s diahrrea?) would be easier. And more entertaining.
Finally, I have always held this core belief that if you are meant to do something, you will do it because you can’t NOT do it. Like all the great writers are blind hairless torsos that joyfully hold a pen in their nostrils so they can finish their last sentence before the gestapo raids their hideout. That is not me. I simply suffer from chronic laziness. I have had other jobs that I have been OK at, but none that I loved. I love the end result of writing. The process simply makes my teeth itch.
I have recently been stumbling across quotes from artists in all fields talking about how their process is difficult, frustrating, boring even. And these are quotes from people that have been quite successful. This gives me hope. I hate being uncomfortable more than anything in the world, but it may be the answer I have been looking for all this time. I just have to let go of this fantasy that it comes easily to everyone but me.
Writing and being creative can be painful, and still be worth it.
I just have to hit the button.
