Perhaps finding my perfect WriteSpot isn't just creating a great place to write, or better time management. I'm beginning to think it's a frame of mind. A way of thinking. A stubborn place in the heart that won't let distractions, however compelling, stop me from writing.
As I explained in the last post I went through years of difficulty that really intruded into my writing. And while I'm now in a great place in life and have a fabulous place to write, distractions and challenges haven't entirely ended. Neither has my tendency to let them intrude in my writing.
The worst offender that too often convinces me that writing can wait is time. Not the lack of it, but the abundance of it. Crazy? In a way.
Before retiring my writing time was precious. Most of my time went to my job and then to my family. I did manage during my last few years of working to get Friday's off. Usually Friday's were havens a peace. No one else was home. These became my designated writing days. Since I wasn't earning money I made sure that I was writing. I had a routine and I stuck with it. That time felt precious because it was pretty much all the time I could pull from the week to write.
When you have very little of something it's easier to see it's worth. To horde it.
Now that I'm retired there is an illusion that the minutes, hours, days and weeks stretch out so long in the future with so many empty spots to write, that I trick myself into thinking, oh there will be time tomorrow. Or, this weekend. Or any time I want. I don't have to stop right now and write. Whereas once I had too little time, now I have too much time. What was once precious has seemingly lost value.
Obviously, this is not true. Usually this realization hits at night, after I'm in bed, and when I can't sleep. You know the moments. When you lay there looking back at your day and wonder what value there was in it. Where did anything I do make a difference? Why am I feeling so empty? And the worst thought of all: Is this all there is?
When these thought takes hold I get panicky. I start thinking about all the words I might never write, the stories I won't tell, the things I never said that I so wanted to say in my books. And sleep... are you kidding. But at midnight or 1am it's hardly the time to get out of bed and go write something so I can feel better, even though I know that writing, doing what I was created to do, is the only thing that's going to satisfy my panic.
Unfortunately, those moments fade significantly by morning. What's worse I'm too tired to think about writing. And then the distractions seem more distracting, my excuses ring more true, and the day is gone and I'm back in bed wondering what has happened to my writing life.
So, tonight this isn't going to be allowed to happen. Tonight as soon as I post this blog I'm back to writing. I'm already comfy, everyone is in bed that could bother me, and even without being in my great office away from home, I'm going to write. No excuses. No distraction. And I'm going to work on creating a new habit. One of the best writer's habits there is: to write every day.
We'll see how it goes. I'd say wish me luck, but luck depends on something that's just too finicky. Instead I'll ask for your prayers. Prayer I know works.
