Writing a book is hard.
Like really really hard.
i came back from Vegas on Friday night and was extremely disappointed to find that the book had not written itself – still the same number of pages (61) and the chaos of jumbled essays.
Last night i tried to write, got a few good things down, then got frustrated at myself and my progress because i feel like i’ve been writing this book FOR EV ER and i’m no closer to having a solid idea of what the fuck i’m writing then when i started.
HOW DO PEOPLE DO THIS?!?!? How do writers ‘finish’ their books?!? How do they even know what to write about or include in the book?!? Those question swirled in my head as the crap chatter began to chime in: You’re not good enough to write a book! You suck. Your book is going to suck so why even bother to continue writing? You’re not Amy Poehler so people won’t give a fuck about your creative story. Who do you think you are?!?!?!?
UGGH.
So i put everything away, read books by great writers that i’ll never be, watched Sex in the City – also about a great writer who is exactly where i will never be, and went to bed disappointed in my efforts and in myself.
Today i woke at 1:30pm. i haven’t slept that late since i was in my 20’s. Again, totally disappointed and disgusted with myself and my lack of productivity.
Double UGGH.
So i ate. i read a little. Read a little more. And then i decided to open my computer. i perused Facebook, Yahoo, and my WordPress dashboard when a different kind of chatter started. It’s Sunday. You have to write a One blank Sunday post because you totally bailed on everybody last week.
Fine.
Pissed off at myself because i failed you and i didn’t want to do that again (even though i really didn’t feel like writing a post in this series), i sat down to write. And just like i knew i would, i hated everything i wrote. But even though i hated everyone and everything in life, i kept writing.
It started with a word that made my writer soul happy, and then a sentence, and then a concept that got my writer soul singing, which turned into a REAL blog post with one too many awesome ideas, which i then edited down into what you’re reading now.
And all the while i’m writing, i’m processing – my week, my trip, my lack of enthusiasm for writing, how i’ve felt these last few days, all of which knocked some sense into me.
Writing, like any other art, needs daily and constant doing. In order to be a superstar drag queen, i have to hone my art by dragging. To be a great writer – or at least the writer that i know i can be – i have to hone my art by writing.
Because i was on vacation, i had not written anything in 5 days. And i had the utterly preposterous expectation that i was going return to the page just as brilliant and prolific of a writer as i left . . .
i have to stop being so hard on myself.
Writing is a craft and sometimes i forget that the biggest part of crafting any art is practice. This blog post is my practice. The next email is my practice. The craptasticness i wrote yesterday was practice.
And while practice doesn’t necessarily make perfect, it does make progress.
It’s all connected and by writing this blog post, my next email, my next anything i’m getting myself ready to write exactly what my book needs (even if i can’t see it yet).
Trust your process, but practice to progress.
Here’s to getting a shit load of practice this week!
Love, light + practice,
b