Kept from Writing
I’m task-oriented. I see the obligations and the responsibilities of my day as a list of tasks. Sometimes I look for the low hanging fruit, the things I can get done and out of the way. Other times I pack a lunch and lace up my boots, because I’ll be away from home to take care of something. I include writing on my list. However, I tend to pursue everything else before writing. And when I sneak a little writing in, my sense of responsibility causes guilt. It’s the obligations of my day that are fueling my resistance to write, so I’m prioritizing my writing.
There is a sense of accomplishment after completing a task. Unloading the dishwasher or folding my laundry are tasks with a clear start and finish. I like when straightforward chores are done and over with. Reading a chapter of a book or watching an episode of a show are fun tasks with a beginning and an end. Though entertaining, I think of reading books and watching shows as something I need to get done. Shoveling the snow or mowing the lawn are both tasks I’m not enthusiastic to complete, but when it’s time to do so, I get after those tasks nonetheless. I thrive on completing tasks and crossing off items on my to-do list.
I also feel good when I accomplish a piece of writing.
The trouble with writing when you are task-oriented is that writing is not a task to be completed, but a process to work through. I think that writing could be considered a series of tasks such as: draft, edit, redraft, edit some more, and, finally, share, submit, or publish. However, there isn’t a formula for writing, not for me. I do all of the aforementioned in whatever order I feel compelled. Sometimes I draft and draft and draft, while other times I draft, edit, draft, edit, ad nauseum. Whatever the particular piece requires, that’s what I do.
And most of the time the writing never gets finished — it gets abandoned, because I don’t prioritize my writing.
Good editing requires deleting the unnecessary, which causes the word count to shrink. Sometimes it feels like you’re undoing the progress you made yesterday. But editing is a way to see what the writing needs next. It’s like sitting down and reassessing your to-do list.
I find it difficult to plan out my writing day to day, because I don’t know what my draft requires until I’ve made edits. And I like to sleep on a draft before editing. This provides some space between drafts yet maintains the momentum to complete the piece. However, the guilt from not completing other, non-writing tasks keeps me from drafting and editing. The writing cycle never restarts, because I’m refueling my lawn mower.
Once I get everything done I’ll sit down and write — that’s what I tell myself. But that doesn’t come true. There is always something else to get done when writing is not the priority.
I need to reprioritize, so that my writing has a chance to find its existence.
Objectively, when does the dishwasher need to be unloaded? That’s easy. Has its cycled completed? Yes. Then the dishes are ready to be put away. But if there are adequate clean dishes in the cupboard, then it isn’t necessary to empty the dishwasher. The priority here isn’t unloading the dishes. The priority is unloading the dishwasher when there aren’t enough clean dishes in the cupboard.
I’ve started to think about a task in terms of its true priority.
Mowing the lawn is a little bit different. There isn’t an objective measure for when it’s time to mow. Some weeks the grass grows back faster than others. After a week I feel that the grass needs to be cut, no matter how much it grew over the last seven days. Is the grass growing? Yes. Has it been a week since I’ve fired up the mower? Yes. Then it’s time to cut the grass.
I’ve recently adopted a similar approach to writing. Is it a new day? Yes. Have you written today? No. Then write. Do you feel you’ve written enough today? No. Then write some more.
Writing keeps the front lawn of my brain green and nourished.
Writing is a habit that takes patience to establish. But writing needs to be the priority. So when I wake up each morning, I brew a cup of tea and then I immediately sit down to write. I write whatever comes to my mind. I don’t set a timer and I don’t have a minimum word count. I write until I’m finished. If I’m not finished I don’t stop writing.
Using this approach, I usually spend 30 to 45 minutes writing each morning.
I’m establishing a routine for my drafts remain alive and well. It takes 21 days to develop a new habit. Everyday I wake up and write. Because, for me, writing every once and awhile isn’t enough.
Failing to prioritize my desire to write fuels my resistance to write. It’s too easy to give priority to anything else on the to-do list. Writing can’t be subordinate to unloading the dishwasher or mowing the lawn. I’m teaching myself that I’m obligated and responsible to write everyday.
