I’ve been down recently—still, actually—with a cold. I just don’t get over them as quickly as I used to. I still treat a cold the same way I treat any other illness—sleep; drugged if necessary. So, as soon as I started feeling poorly, I grabbed my bottle of generic Benadryl and put myself to sleep for the better part of a day. It was okay, I already had that day off work. (That’s another skill I have, getting sick on days that I have scheduled off from work. But that’s another story.)
So, I spent a long weekend that was supposed to be used catching up on my writing either sleeping or sitting around in a daze blowing my nose. And, feeling guilty about not writing; I could barely form a coherent thought and all I wanted was to breathe clear enough to go back to sleep, but I felt bad because I wasn’t writing. I did, a few days later, finally get a little writing done. But it got me thinking about all the guilt that writers associate with their writing.
First thing, one thing all writers are truly professional at is finding things to do other than writing. People who have to pay their bills from their writing, and a few scarce others, find ways to work around the procrastination skills. But we all have it. I can spend three days cleaning my house from top to bottom, and still feel an urge to vacuum the second I sit down to write. Or check in on Facebook. Or spend just a half an hour on a video game. Oh, video games are my time doom.
And even if we do actually get some writing done, it’s not enough. Not enough time, not enough words for the time, not enough quality for the words. The guilt just won’t stop. We may find a day or two of surcease, but that is a rare angel indeed.
But here’s the really odd thing: when we do find the time and energy, when we get the words on page—even for something like this blog—the feeling is ecstatic. I slap my forehead and grin ear-to-ear and wonder why in the heck I hadn’t just sat down and done it earlier! I promise that I will immediately resume this wonderful feeling of fingers to keys. I am renewed and rejuvenated. I am restless and can’t sleep for the need of the joy from the word-induced drug.
I don’t have any solutions for this. Persevere x infinity. I just had to explain that we’re all a little crazy, but we do our best.
