I've sort of been avoiding writing about the topic of procrastination (HAR! see what I did there?), but I had an aha moment about it the other day that will require a lengthy treatise. Get your popcorn.
I've written before (obliquely) on the subject, and I'd like now to declare that I wasn't being entirely truthful in that post. Yes, I write because I enjoy it, but I don't always enjoy it. Specifically, lately, what with this whole Being A Writer thing (see below), I'm not enjoying it much, and therefore haven't been doing it much. There. I said it.
It's not that I don't enjoy stringing words together, it's that writing well (as opposed to just spewing, like I do here on the blaugh), for this particular brain, requires a focused attention that takes effort, and I am congenitally, terminally lazy. If something's not easy to do, I simply avoid doing it, and I'm not talking about the kind of work avoidance most people do, where you let the laundry pile up for a week, or don't mow the lawn until it's past your ankles. I'm talking not even having a lawn. Seriously. Behold my yard:
The only reason they haven't found my dead body under a mountain of dirty dishes and cat litter is because The Spouse came with a cleaning gene. I am simply world class at not doing shit that requires too much effort. Worse, somewhere in my psychological makeup resides this new-agey idea that if something's not easy to do, I'm not supposed to do it -- that The Universe is Sending Me A Message about my True Calling or something. Put that together with another aha thing I realized some years ago -- that if you really, really love something, the fastest way to kill that love is to do it for a living -- and there you have it: the perfect formula for any kind of vocational self-sabotage you'd care to engage in. FML.
I loved writing Nine Days, because it wasn't serious. It was just something I did for my own entertainment. Then it turned out to be pretty damned good, and the idea of Being A Writer started looking interesting again (I had tried Being A Writer in my twenties and decided that it was too hard -- oh, the irony). I'm a competent architect (my Day Job) because I don't take it very seriously. If something happened to prevent me practicing architecture anymore, I honestly wouldn't give a damn. To succeed at anything, I have to not care whether or not I succeed at it. And I can't fool myself -- I have to sincerely, genuinely, in my guts, not care.
So. Any ideas on how to not give a shit about writing again?
I've written before (obliquely) on the subject, and I'd like now to declare that I wasn't being entirely truthful in that post. Yes, I write because I enjoy it, but I don't always enjoy it. Specifically, lately, what with this whole Being A Writer thing (see below), I'm not enjoying it much, and therefore haven't been doing it much. There. I said it.
It's not that I don't enjoy stringing words together, it's that writing well (as opposed to just spewing, like I do here on the blaugh), for this particular brain, requires a focused attention that takes effort, and I am congenitally, terminally lazy. If something's not easy to do, I simply avoid doing it, and I'm not talking about the kind of work avoidance most people do, where you let the laundry pile up for a week, or don't mow the lawn until it's past your ankles. I'm talking not even having a lawn. Seriously. Behold my yard:
The only reason they haven't found my dead body under a mountain of dirty dishes and cat litter is because The Spouse came with a cleaning gene. I am simply world class at not doing shit that requires too much effort. Worse, somewhere in my psychological makeup resides this new-agey idea that if something's not easy to do, I'm not supposed to do it -- that The Universe is Sending Me A Message about my True Calling or something. Put that together with another aha thing I realized some years ago -- that if you really, really love something, the fastest way to kill that love is to do it for a living -- and there you have it: the perfect formula for any kind of vocational self-sabotage you'd care to engage in. FML.
I loved writing Nine Days, because it wasn't serious. It was just something I did for my own entertainment. Then it turned out to be pretty damned good, and the idea of Being A Writer started looking interesting again (I had tried Being A Writer in my twenties and decided that it was too hard -- oh, the irony). I'm a competent architect (my Day Job) because I don't take it very seriously. If something happened to prevent me practicing architecture anymore, I honestly wouldn't give a damn. To succeed at anything, I have to not care whether or not I succeed at it. And I can't fool myself -- I have to sincerely, genuinely, in my guts, not care.
So. Any ideas on how to not give a shit about writing again?
OK, your not fooling me any. You've been to MY house right? Oh wait .... your yard is neater than mine.
ReplyDeleteI think you just got your inspiration for writing again. Congrats on getting an agent!