The Nine Worlds of Writers (and how to make them perfect adjacent)
I’ve been told for six months that “its gonna get busier” at work, a cringe-worthy phrase in the light of my current 45-hour work week and 45-minute one-way commute, coupled with living with a steadily declining dementia sufferer. So when my editor told me she needed my blog series by the 29th of June, I could literally feel my frontal lobe slamming into my skull. I’m already on empty. Staving off an inner toddler tantrum, I denied my anxiety, allowing only the tiniest “In a perfect world I’d have…” moment. Truth is, there are lots of “worlds” out there, none of which are perfect. It’s all in how we as writers spin them. So over the next nine weeks, I’m going to spin a few of which I am familiar:
Welcome to the nine worlds of writers!
It’s off to work we go
Dwarves as workers is a common thread in many myths and tales. They’ve been smithing and digging and accumulating wealth since the lands were ancient and dragon ships coursed the wild northern seas. And we humans relate to their mindsets often to our creative detriment.
Over the past few installments, I’ve mentioned the need for being real. (Yes, go back and read them if you haven’t) And I am not contradicting myself, but those of us who are responsible, loyal, and hard workers over time develop our identity by what we do for our families, our careers and our benevolent actions. We apply diligence to everything and when we write, we are scheduled and pragmatic. But because we are so based in reality and the system of accumulating that which we need to survive, we also prioritize the accumulative responsibilities, and writing goes to the bottom of the pile.
And we suffer for it.
We ache because we are strong and sturdy and planted. We understand the value of time and money and pursuing our writing uses our resources with no tangible return. And so we become hollow. Perhaps you may need to table a specific project for a season, but if you are a writer, your writing time should be as jealously guarded as your other pursuits because it is who you are. If you put it down completely while you get that degree and raise those babies, when school is out and the fledglings have flown, you will suddenly have empty space in your schedule and your heart and you may just look back over twenty years and mourn more than your svelte frame.
You will inevitably register that while ideas are infinite, you aren’t. Time will not wait for you. Even if you’ve been doing wonderful things for others. Do one little thing for yourself and keep writing regularly. Even more dangerous than regret is the insidious march of time itself on your creative soul. The less you stretch your mind, the less plastic it becomes. The true tragedy occurs when suddenly the creative soul is allowed time, but the creative abilities have disappeared. Use it or lose it.