Here are some thoughts I had while writing with my composition students the other day. As today is the National Day on Writing, I thought I would share them on the off chance that it helps someone else, too.
Ten more minutes to write. What would I do with more? A
lot.
I’m starting to believe that my
reluctance to throw myself into another writing project (and Writing Project)
stems from a deep yet faulty belief that I don’t have enough time to do a good
job, and like so many of my students continue in the false philosophy that it’s
better to not even try than to try and fail. I often voice aloud that I am not
afraid to fail (at writing…because that is what revision is for), but I think I
really am.
I claim that my most toxic enemy is time, or
the apparent lack thereof. I don’t have enough. At least I don’t have the time
I want/need to start and finish projects as I used to. Sure, time adds up, yes,
but my inner self struggles to produce writing when I perceive that I don’t
have wide-open slots on my schedule. Lately my available “free” time minutes have
been relegated to numbers I can count on my fingers and toes.
And I’ll admit that it is true
that ten or twenty minutes here and there could make a difference if I made use of said minutes. However,
those small chunks don’t permit my mindset to allow flow to happen. (Thank you
very much, Mr. Csikszentmihalyi.) It takes me that long to warm up. To be
honest, when I have to quilt the piece scraps of time together, the patchwork writing
isn’t as pleasurable for me. What’s the fun in turning it off before the engine
is heated?
Here’s my thought—probably not
new to any who might still be reading—but hang with me. What if I use those
small snatches of seconds and the odd handful of minutes I do actually have to
become more organized or methodical or strategic about what I write and what I
do as a writer. It might seem to be more work—starting and stopping like a new
driver on a clutch—but I might actually produce something. As a wise mentor
once (or twice or a thousand times) told me, only writing produces text. Using
my time this way might allow me to navigate the shallow waters my creative
vessel has been treading lately. Yes, I am mixing my metaphors. Judge harshly!
It doesn’t matter right now. What does is that I am writing.
I need to get over the ugly despair
that falls when I can’t find a perfect description or if my alliteration is
over the top; the writing on the wall (which is not mine, by the way) clearly
dictates that I have to get back to work. I just have to write. I might need a
stricter taskmaster, though.
