My unemployment streak is now two months old, not to mention the months of working maybe 15 hours a week since I wasn't teaching in case we moved before the fall semester ended. This has easily been the hardest part of moving...the free time. Technically, I'm employed by Educate Online where I'll be a higher education composition instructor, tutoring through an online classroom. The hiring process is now in week three and there's no guarantee of hours once I'm trained. I'm thankful, though, to at least having something coming soon job-wise.
This seems like the perfect time to complete beautiful writing projects, using my imagination to weave tapestries of words and dreams. I could set up at different coffee shops each day, writing for hours on end, sharing stories that bring hope and life and compassion to all sharing the human condition. Maybe I would sip at a cup of hot tea, staring thoughtfully at passersby through a window, soaking in the new ideas streaming through my mind.
It's such a lovely idea, and one I feel so strongly that I should pursue with all these hours of time to myself. But actually doing it is the hard part. I'm at 43,000 words on my current book, which may sound impressive and I guess I should give myself enough credit to say that this is a good amount of work, but being that I started writing in November, I keep beating myself up for not being done already. Once I'm writing, ideas come and it's a lovely feeling when I've crammed out a few thousand words. The writer's anxiety is just intense, though, before actually sitting down and doing it.
The story I'm writing about the first trip I went on with mom and Kristin is a good one. When I thought of writing it last summer, I knew it was the "next project." Once I started writing it, I also knew it was good and even now I like how it's turning out. So why does this hesitation and fear to write keep me from progressing that word count? I waste so much time sleeping, watching YouTube, and dawdling (such a great word) around the apartment, which is fine if I could balance that with doing what I know I should be doing.
Really, I need to stop beating myself up. Whether I write enough or not, or whether anyone works on what they know they should, punishing for each failure just blocks future attempts.
So, thanks for those who have been so encouraging with reading what I've published or posted so far and giving me props for the writing itself. It's especially great how some of you have given specific feedback or even helpful criticism. Parts of this book are just hard to write because of the dormant emotions that they bring out. While it can be painful to remember what certain things felt like, like the lonely, hollow feeling during Christmas when I would see so many "complete" families opening presents and feeling like we were outsiders looking in, these emotions prove that I'm writing something real that needs to be told.
If you've read this far, thanks! I was getting the computer out to work on the book and immediately ran into the "writer demon" that said, "You're really going to try this again? Just pull up another YouTube clip of people with crazy addictions. That's much easier and you can't fail at watching a video. Writing on the other hand..." So I wrote this post and already I feel better. Boo to you, writer demon!
