For a while there I had hit a writer’s slump. Working on my manuscript felt mechanical. Void of all passion and joy. (Maybe not all. But majority wins.) I’ve had seasons in my life where writing was sheer happiness each time I sat down at the keyboard. Where I had time to write for hours on end–and did. Ruthlessly committing to a schedule of 5-6 days of heavy writing a week. While my schedule nowadays isn’t as flexible, it still allows for decent writing time. Have I always taken advantage of said writing time? Embarrassingly, no. Excuses began to filter in until I was only writing 1-2 hours every 2 days a week. And it was the mechanical kind. Sit down. Put words on screen. Fuss that this is agonizingly torturous. Forget that I only have myself to blame. And hurry on to the next activity–you know, something extremely important like watching How I Met Your Mother for the 17,000th time.
Until I had had enough. So many of you make the time even if you don’t have it. So many of you create when you don’t feel like it. So many of you inspire me to do better. And so, a new attitude arrived. I was going to commit to a (at least) 5 days a week writing schedule–because I can. Because there’s *always* time to fit in a few paragraphs, a few pages of writing. Funny how there’s always time to search the web. Or watch an hour episode of something dull. Wouldn’t I rather be the one creating than sitting by watching other’s create?
And here’s what happened. Once I got back into a rhythm of writing more, I began to miss it when I wasn’t at my laptop. I began to dream about it again. About writing. About stories. About characters. And that familiar sense of joy and happiness came flooding back with it. Not to say every moment is easy. Or even enjoyable. But it’s back to where I need it to be. Relationships are like that, no? They require time. Energy. Effort. Especially when we don’t feel like it.
I’ve signed up for this writer’s life for the rest of my life. So I best treat it well. Glad it’s treating me the same.