Oh, the irony. I’m having trouble getting started today.
This is supposed to be a writing blog about the grind. Specifically, my grind, and the ways I get it done. The day in, day out push that comes from working at something you love, every day. Even on days you don’t want to. Especially on days you don’t want to. And, let me tell you, today I don’t want to.
Now, I could very easily blame this on a couple of nights of crap sleep. I’m getting over some kind of weird alien death cough which I think might be the precursor to an invasion (territory conquered: my lungs). Or I could go the armchair psych major route, and say it’s fear of starting something new because, like, new things are hard, y’know?
Honestly, if I worked at it even a little, I’m sure I could come up with all kinds of reasons not to write today. It’s Chore Day, and that laundry isn’t going to do itself. Oh, and I haven’t worked out yet today, so I should get on that. And wasn’t I going to clean out my desk sometime soon? Get rid of all the bent paperclips and old cell phones and half-finished drawings that are preventing the drawers from opening properly?
Funny, this is the most creative I’ve felt yet today: coming up with excuses.
Which is the point: it’s easy to come up with that shit, isn’t it? A hell of a lot easier than actually sitting down and writing. Sometimes it feels like my brain has way more excuses in it than useable words. They come out faster, too.
But that’s a quick route to nowhere. Nothing gets done that way. No bones about it: writing is work. At least, it is if you want to be any good at it. You’ve got to turn up every day, and bang those damn keys, and see what comes out.
And you know what? Sometimes it’s going to be crap. Already I suspect that this might be.
But here’s the point: if I spend all day at this laptop and produce nothing but a damp clot of barely coherent sentences, it sucks. But at least I know that I did what I could. I didn’t let the excuses win. I stared at them, and they blinked first.
At the end of the day (or, more accurately, now, at 9:43 on a Monday morning), the excuses are just that: excuses. Because I’m here, and the computer’s here, and there’s stuff to get done. So now I have a choice: walk away and spend the day avoiding it, or holster up my ovaries and get to work.
So I’m getting to work. I’m going at this tired and sick, and with more than a little trepidation. But, hey, at least I’m doing it.
Because inspiration only takes you so far. Then you’ve got to get out and push.