I had such great plans for this summer. They included writing two books and a novella, because the juices were flowing and I had a babysitter lined up several mornings a week. So here I am in mid-September, having completed one book and half a novella, with a deadline looming a mere two weeks away.
What happened?
Life.
Now I’m fully prepared to admit that my plans were a tad too ambitious, considering what else was going on. We moved this summer, to New York City no less, from a leafy suburb in Connecticut. I’m also expecting a baby–number four–in a month’s time. So what on earth was I thinking, planning to write so much during one of the busiest times of my life?
I’m not sure, except that I really wanted to accomplish some things before the imminent arrival of a certain little girl. My own ambitions aside, it’s all too easy to have plans–even reasonable ones–derailed by life’s circumstances.
Last summer I had the babysitter but not the juices. I was simply tapped out, so that even though I had hours of time, I accomplished very little writing. Then last autumn I had a deadline that was derailed by a succession of family visits. And this spring, I found I was so preoccupied by our upcoming move and the changes my children were experiencing that I couldn’t give anyone else–even a fictional character–much thought at all.
So what are we to do when life takes a front seat to writing? Well, first of all, recognize that life should take a front seat to writing. That’s okay. It’s even healthy. That means you have a life in the first place. The second thing to do is know yourself. Or find a critique partner or writing friend who knows you–and knows when to push you and when to give you a hug.
There are times when I know I need to just sit myself down in front of the keyboard and start filling that blank page–it’s hard, agonizing even, and sometimes I have to set a timer for 20 minutes. If I write solidly for that length of time, I can check my email. Or get a snack. Or take a nap.
But there are other times when I recognize that life is just a little too much, and I give myself a break. I forgive myself, and read a book or watch TV or savour one of my guiltier pleasures, mindless surfing of the web.
And then eventually kick myself in the rear and start writing again.
It’s so easy to be tough on ourselves, whether you’re aspiring or experienced, just published or multi-published. I know I’m always pushing myself to write more, do more, be more. And while it’s good to be motivated and driven, it’s even better–and healing–to allow yourself some space, some slack. Some gentleness. And you might even find you’re a better writer for it.
Now back to that deadline…
