Knowing that I cannot sit and wait for inspiration to hit, I am attempting to practice the time-honored advice of “write every day” even if it hurts. I know I need to get into the habit and practice of actually writing again. I need to think of it as my job, and write. So, I am, even if it’s just this blog or an overdue letter, or four whole paragraphs of a short story that was with me when I woke up one morning, and kept coming back until I sat down and wrote. But I haven’t finished it. Yet.
I am going back to some sites and blogs, rereading rejected pieces, and still plotting in my head. I don’t have the confidence I used to, or the motivation, and that is what I so want to get back. But I do have desire. So maybe I’ll make it this time.
I am definitely a procrastinator, as I have confessed before, but one of those crazy/creative procrastinators who thinks everything out in my head, and through reading and research, then belts out a great piece at the last minute to the surprise of noone but myself. I miss the deadlines, that’s probably what I need. There’s nothing more motivating than finality.
PT2: I wrote that yesterday and today I read it and hate it, but will not delete. I was interrupted by life, which always seems to happen when I’m doing something. Which is another reason why I can’t seem to motivate or complete anything. I do have three kids and a husband who rely on me for EVERYTHING [do they think moms come with a radar system that enables her and only her to find anything they cannot see directly in front of them?!] I want to use “freetime” to write, but that always seems to be at the expense of something else, primarily sleep. I feel guilty if I am ignoring dishes and laundry and the dog whining at the backdoor because I want to write. And I don’t even feel justified in asking for peace and understanding from the family when I am not even producing anything they can identify as work. Or income.
In a talk with my almost-4 yo son about what we want to be when we grow up, I admitted I always wanted to be a writer [or a reader, which is my dream job]. He remembered that and told me last night “I hope you will get to be a writer when you grow up.” I just said, “Me, too.”