A rambling argument with myself.
This is my identity. I’m a writer who doesn’t write. I have a love-hate relationship with writing. I never have time when I have inspiration and vise versa. Even now, a rare moment of clarity and time completely devoid of purpose. My soul hungers for the dance of my fingers on the keys, typing frantically to keep up with my thoughts. My brain is exhausted, abandoning my inspiration for thoughts of my expired task lists and responsibilities. I keep telling myself, if I find the inspiration for my words, it will just flow. It will be easy, and beautiful, and perfect, and I’ll be content.
I realize how naïve I am. Reward comes from fighting for something, not stumbling upon it. My comfort zone as a non-writer is a safe space where my dream of writing is unscathed. Where my self-doubt and fear are gatekeepers. Where the critics are across the mote. My ego polished and clean.
I need the right inspiration.
I need to wait for the right inspiration to drop on the ground in front of me. Like a loosely tied doggy bag, after Brutus the Mastiff got into the trash, on a 90-degree day. I need that idea to present itself to me; boldly, confidently, pungently. Leaving no room for doubt or fear. I need the universe to provide the inspiration I require and the words. I need the writing to just appear on the pages, effortlessly. Without the need for editing. Without the risk of critique that tarnishes my fragile writing ego.
How lazy this makes me feel. How entitled. Writers work hard to create content, to develop stories, to research facts, to build characters and I just want it to appear. As if I would be happy regurgitating a story. The greatest joys in life are often the things you fight the hardest for. Inspiration doesn’t just happen. You fight for it. You develop it. You earn it. And that reward of inspiration is a gift for your patience and practice. Tuck your head down and prepare to battle it out. Inspiration ain’t got nothing on me. I am going to find it and use it. I am going to create something beautiful and unique. Something that I fought for, that I earned. That I created. Not something that was given to me.
I just don’t have the time.
Isn’t this a beautiful, perfectly formulated, guilt free, little lie? It’s not through any fault of my own, that I am not writing. I am being so amazing, doing so many other amazing things, I just don’t have the time to do the one thing my soul aches for. Really, I’m such a selfless person, sacrificing the thing I want to do to do all these other things. If I didn’t have a job, or a spouse, or a child, or rent, or the need to eat, I would definitely be writing. I am just so important that time is not a luxury I have.
We all have the same number of hours in a day. You, me, your favorite celebrity, the president, the cashier at your local grocery store. The only truly equal thing that we have is time. I may be busy, but if writing is a passion, it is my responsibility to prioritize it. Write. Actually write. It is not about how much time we have, it is about how we choose to use it.
So as long as I find myself grasping to the title of ‘non-writer’, I’m going to write. About nothing. A lot. I’m going to practice writing. Practice pushing myself through those doubts and fears. Practice writing with intention. Practice editing, furiously. Practice the thing I’m afraid of, until I’m no longer afraid. Until the walls of my comfort zone are stretched. And then I’m going to write some more.
I would love to hear your motivations & advice to encourage myself & others to keep pushing through.