Writing has gone something like this the last few months: Sit down. Open laptop. Open work-in-progress. Stare at work-in-progress. Write a sentence or two. Rewrite a sentence or two. Hit the Safari tab. Get lost online sending out resumes, checking Facebook, clicking through news sites, checking email, checking blogs (and lamenting how long its been since I've made an entry), rinse, soap, repeat. Hence, my progress has been rather dismal.
Then comes the guilt. I have the time, why am I not being more productive? I'm waaaayyyy behind publication schedule for Book II of the Whirlwomen Trilogy--am I ever going to get it to market? Will my readers even care when I do? Will this project end up on my closet shelf with the other half dozen that are in various states of incompletion?
It's not a productive cycle. Nor is it any good for my writing esteem.
The thing is, nothing is moving along productively in my life right not. My income has been drastically reduced for an extended period. Contract work has been inconsistent and finding a new job elusive. The embarrassment around my finances has me avoiding social interactions and isolating. Constantly being on the verge of panic does not support the creative process.
You hear the stories of writers being on the edge of total ruin just prior to their breakout novel being published. It makes good publicity fodder and has probably contributed to one or two writers actually choosing to suffer as part of their craft, but that just doesn't seem to work for me. I don't like to suffer. I don't like high-anxiety. I like comfort and stability. I've convinced myself that anything else scares my characters away, stifles my stories.
But things are what they are for now. It'll be a shame to look back on this period and realize I had so much time to write and didn't. My favorite yoga teacher often says during more challenging postures: "It's just a situation. Situations are temporary. Don't let the situation take you out." It's much easier said then done, but those really are words to live by. Each time I let "the situation" immobilize me creatively, I'm telling myself I'm not really a writer. Why? Because writers write. No matter what.
So once again, I'm in front of my computer. After I finish this blog, which is more of a mental dump then constructive, informative reading (sorry), I'm going to get back to work on "Flicker". I may not be that productive, my characters may still be in comas, but at least I'll be back in the game, have one less lament. Like a good day on the yoga mat, a few pages on the computer screen reminds me that pushing through the discomfort oftentimes leads to nirvana.