By: Sarah
Okay, so maybe I’ve gotten out of the writing habit a little.
I finished writing the first draft of my manuscript Final Belongings fifteen months ago in May 2019. My plan was to take a two-month break, then spend the remaining half of the year editing it. I’d have a shiny, new, agent-worthy version come the new year.
Yet by the end of 2019, I still hadn’t even opened the document on my computer. Why not? Well, it all began with some fairly valid reasons:
My husband and I bought a house that also needed renovations before moving in
I’m running my own business, which had grown extremely busy
We traveled for two weeks during the Christmas holidays
Then January 2020 came. Still nothing. By this time, the internal pressure and anxiety was mounting. When I thought about getting back into my novel, I felt irritated rather than excited. Like it was just one more chore I had to weave into my already insane schedule.
Waiting for inspiration to unfold
I’m just not feeling inspired, I thought. Yes, that’s the problem. I’ll wait until I feel inspired again.
I Googled “how to feel inspired to write,” hoping for a magical solution. Instead, my query returned myriad variations of the answer I already knew, but resisted with every ounce of my being: The only way to be inspired and summon the muse is to form a daily writing habit. You get up and write every day, whether you want to or not.
“Write one thousand words every day,” writes author Chuck Wendig. Easy for you to say, I thought darkly. You’re not trying to plan, prep, and cook all your meals while also working out every day to maintain a healthy mind and body. You also don’t have the stress of running your own business.
Stephen King says he writes every day of the year without exception beginning work between 8:00 and 8:30 am. He has a daily writing quota of two thousand words and rarely allows himself to quit until he’s reached his goal.
Well, la-di-da, I stewed. Clearly, you’re not a poor sleeper like me, so it’s easy for you to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at your computer by 8. Oh, and you’re also a bazillionaire so you have the luxury of writing on until you’ve reached your goal!
The truth is, I was afraid to get back into the writing routine because of what it would mean for my self-identity as a writer. What if I created a writing routine, and the muse simply never came back? What if I stared at the screen and no words came? What if I re-read my manuscript and realized it was utter shit? That I’d wasted two years of my life writing some unsalvagable piece of garbage?
As I debated what to do, the decision was soon made for me. I woke up wild-eyed one morning to the world shutting down, nations closing their borders, and thousands of people dying due to a terrifying virus running rampant around the globe.
It goes without saying that my muse issues were pushed to the farthest corners of my mind. Cue another four months without writing.
Playing catch-up in our new normal
Now, finally. Fifteen months “late,” but here I am. Owning up to my fears. Like a long-lapsed Catholic dragging herself to confession. If COVID didn’t (or doesn’t) kill me, am I not lucky? Don’t I owe it to myself to finish this goddamn thing? [A tad hyperbolic, sure. But it’s what I’m going with for motivation for now.]
Last Monday I began. Five mornings in a row, I got my ass into the chair in front of my screen for ninety uninterrupted minutes of writing. And each night before, I’d prep for the following morning routine by programming the coffee to brew at 7:30 am; opening the document I’d be working on the next morning, closing out all other programs, and turning off wi-fi; and cranking my alarm volume to the level of a front-row seat at a Nascar race.
And guess what? The muse showed up. And I trapped her, five days in a row.
She crept in slowly at first on Monday morning, skeptical. We stared at each other yards apart like long-lost sisters, unsure of what to do. I offered a little smile, which she returned. By the end of the first day, she’d inched a little closer to me. On the fifth day, like a loyal cat, she was lounging on the armchair next to me.
As much as I feared, dreaded, averted, eschewed, and fought the damn writing routine, here I am: putting words on a page again. Of course, I don’t want to get too excited – I still have miles to go before I sleep. But it’s not so bad to imagine that maybe 2020 will have one redeeming quality after all.