I am a brilliant procrastinator! It’s the thing I am best at, along with sleeping. Far better than plotting, outlining, character development, grammar.. oh the list is endless….. Recently my sleep abilities are not so hot either. So as far as procrastination goes, I’m hot – nuclear level hot.
So why am I attempting to juggle work, blog, novel and love life?
There’s an urge. I wouldn’t call it a calling and it’s not spiritual per se but it does make me want to put words down on paper and have someone else read them and go “uh-huh”, “I get it”. I guess that is what this blog is about? We all see the world in a myriad of different unique ways, we live in our heads and want to sense check that it’s making the same sort of sense. It’s a social calling to connect, to create and (in precious rare moments) to give?
It’s also born out of the worst sort of narcissism and fear there is. First you have to believe….. Really believe that you can and will write. Then you have fear lurking and lurching around like a big wet smelly dog telling you things like “really? YOU, think you can write. YOU?” or “It’s rubbish, utter dross….” or sometimes you drift off into daydreams of stardom and bestsellers….. “Look at me…. Look at me…. Read my stuff…….”
We put our families and friends through mind numbing long conversations about our latest project or if you’re like me, you’ve hidden the urge, buried it deep and then it comes crawling to the surface every so often (five unfinished novels, yes, count them , FIVE.) and you simply get an idea…. Not a plot, not a structure but a “What if?”
It picks away at you like that irksome to do list.
I choose to write because I can’t think of another way to shut the voices up. Sometimes their loud and brash and sometimes it’s more of a whisper and yet they’re there. Lurking. Along with fear and dreams and a sense of purpose. No one is forcing me to put my hands on the keyboard or to bash out thirty lines that will be rewritten a thousand times before I’m happy. There is no man with a gun to my head (if someone can afford to hire one for me that would be great, I’m sure I’d get a lot more done!) urging me to finish.
Yet I choose to write, I choose to find my voice in a world full of instant gratification and sound and cats and stuff.
Who knows maybe someone else will hear me…
I still “choose” to write.