I’m writing a novel, but I’m not supposed to be talking about it. At least, that’s what the books about writing books says. It says that talking isn’t writing, but I feel like telling my friends what I am doing keeps me accountable. When I’m not writing and they ask how the book is going, then I get back on track. I also feel like it’s an excuse for my absence. For example, I haven’t met up with my friends for trivia in weeks. Instead, I’ve written and I’ve read more than I’ve written. I’ve read a lot – 12 books since May. I’ve read until I’ve fallen asleep with books in my bed. Writers are supposed to read a lot.
My biggest problem with writing, sometimes, is guilt. I grew up in a household where things were neatly kept, you worked hard, and you took care of your responsibilities. So, when I am sitting in front of my laptop, or even planning to, I feel that I should first do laundry, vacuum, wipe of the kitchen counters, etc. Once I do this, I tell myself, I will have no distractions from the thing I want to do. But I realize that’s just avoidance.
I also realize that life sometimes forces us to do things. Tuesday, I was off work by 2 p.m. Working at a college is cool like that. I washed dishes, cleaned the kitchen, thawed meat for dinner, sorted laundry and mopped the floor. I was tiptoeing through the kitchen in my house shoes, thinking of what else I needed to do before I started writing, when I got my reality check.
My slippers slid forward. I reached out to grab the counter and stop the fall, but all I grasped was the air. Panic set in. My legs flew up like an Adam Sandler pratfall. I landed flat on my back, or backside, I can’t remember. I didn’t even attempt to get up at first. I just laid on the wet, kitchen floor and groaned. My first thoughts were that it was really going to hurt the next day and wondered if my downstairs neighbor would come up, concerned about the noise. I knew cleaning time was done. I took it as a sign. I started writing.
Maybe taking a fall as a sign is silly, but that’s what it takes for us to slow down sometimes. Instead of focusing on what I wanted to do, I was too busy with the to-do list in my mind. Then, it was like Stanley Plumly wrote, “nothing, nothing to break the fall,” or Tim O’Brien wrote “boom, then down,” even though this situation wasn’t really about abandonment or war. But then again, it was.
We’re at war all the time with what we want to do versus what we feel we should do. Should I pay the bills, spend time with the dog, write lesson plans, mop the floor? Or should I take up writing, yoga, quilting, scrapbooking, songwriting? Am I abandoning my adulthood responsibilities or my dreams? Think about it. Are you waiting for a sign? Will it take a fall for you to relax? Or is it fear stopping you instead?
I get afraid. Afraid I will write, write and write and I will get letters back mocking my attempt. I fear my book will get rejected. However, at the end of my life I would rather say that I tried than have the “what ifs”. I don’t want to come to the end and be asked, “Why didn’t you ever go for it? Why didn’t you write?”
It would sound rather sill if I said, “I was mopping the floor. I was keeping a clean kitchen.”
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