I know there are writers who love to write. I read their interviews with a combination of awe, disbelief and irritation. They say things like, "I sit at my desk eighteen hours a day. I don't even notice the time passing by. There's nothing else I would rather do."
Seriously?
I can think of a million things I would rather do. Writing is hard. It's not like going dancing or riding on Space Mountain or disco bowling. It's not fun.
First you have to lay out a plot that slips and slides all over the place, taking you places you might not want to go. Then you have to deal with characters who won't do as they're told. Then you end up having to research something you have no interest in just because a character decides she is an expert on crickets or bull fighting. And once it's all down, there are the countless hours, months, years of revisions. Not to mention the crippling self-doubt, late-night pacing and isolation.
In a recent conversation with my dad, who is a poet, I was complaining about structure issues with my new book, writing a play that just isn't working, and that niggling feeling that my kids and I will end up living in a tent on the beach if I don't go fill out an application at Canadian Tire.
"God, Dad," I said. "Why do we do this?"
"Because we're compelled to," he said with a resigned sigh. "We don't have a choice."
Right.
Last week a friend asked me if I could imagine my life without writing. I tried, and was instantly overwhelmed with panicky horror. The answer was pretty clear. No way.
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I wonder what would happen if we stopped saying (and thinking) that the work we were compelled (purposed?)to do, was "hard"?
ReplyDeleteAnd who is this other making that choice for us?
You my dear sister, are a fantastical, most amazing creator of images with words. YOU can change the world!
Thanks, Suzanne! xox
ReplyDeleteAnd you're right about the other stuff...
I saw your link of MomWriter and had to wander by. This entry hit home for me. Writing isn't easy. I've had people tell me, "Oh, it must be nice to stay home all day with your kids and write." HA! They don't see us at our worst - those chaotic days where the 3 year old has peed on the floor, the 5 year old has torn apart the house, the muse pretty much flipped you off and every word is a battle.
ReplyDeleteThose are the days I lay in bed and wonder if life would be better if I just threw in the towel and flipped burgers over at McDonalds. We'd have money! And a set schedule! Mama wouldn't have to dig under the couch cushions for grocery money.
And then I realize something: if I don't write, I might as well throw myself off a cliff or check myself into the local loony bin. Life just wouldn't worth it.... Writing Is My Life.
Now if only my muse would be a bit more cooperative... ;-)
I can totally relate, Anne. And I LOVE "the muse has flipped you off." Been there so many times.
ReplyDeleteMoney and a set schedule would be great, but they're not worth the potential cliff dive...
I'm paraphrasing here...but it was Alice Munro who said that the only reason she continued to write was because the family bought a washing machine...which gave her just that bit more time to write. It was that close.
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