I don’t wanna. I don’t wanna, and you can’t make me. Seriously, I’m barely managing to keep my own head above water. I have to set the kids in front of the screen to get time to write. Which happens once a week, pretty much. I’m tired of it, but there’s no relief in sight. Fortunately (heh, heh) Mrs. Dave will be going back on a normal schedule next week. Fortunately. Yeah. Sure.
I dunno, y’all. I feel close to being done. I have bad brain days, and they always seem to line up with Tuesdays. I don’t have any wisdom to impart, or even any real experience. Would it shock you to learn I’ve never finished a novel? You can’t be a writer if you don’t write, and you can’t be a professional if you don’t regularly finish things and kick them out the door. Y’all react pretty well to what I put up, but … I dunno. I really don’t.
I spend most of my time managing the household, which leaves very little for personal improvement of any kind. Assuming I have the energy, which is in short supply most of the time.
This is basically how I feel, right now. As an introvert, I’m not getting any introversion time, right now. Sic semper tyrannis, and all that, but it’s not getting me any time off of being The Guy. Right now I’m The Guy, and that doesn’t look like it’s really going to stop. Maybe you’re The Guy, or The Gal (hey, look at me: I’m inclusive!), and you aren’t getting what you need. You’re not alone.
But what do we do about that, as writers? What can you do as a creative type who often need something to kick-start the process? I dunno. Find some time to yourself? I can tell you what I do. First, I experience. I have a love/hate relationship with mysticism. It’s a valid form of epistemology (or at least, it’s classically human. see: love/hate) though uncomfortable for many. I often find myself grinding on the walls of my own skull to work out a bunch of stuff, which ends up looking much the same.
Ultimately, I find I have to delve the vexing depths of whatever is bothering me before I can move on to actually doing something. It’s exhausting, but it seems to be a necessary part of my process. I find I have to push through the psychic morass. I find anger helps, actually. Which is part and parcel of depression, but I might as well make this mess work for me, right?
What gets you through to a place where you can do? There’s a light at the end of the tunnel, though it usually feels a lot more like crawling through a desert to get to a cool drink, or breaking down a wall to get to a place of some safety or sanity on the other side. Honestly, the single most helpful discovery I’ve made is the ability to recognize when my brain chemistry is lying to me, and then to ignore it. It’s incredibly empowering.