When the words wont come or you wont let them

If any of you read my writing page (if not read it now – on pain of death but you know, no pressure) then you will know that I am writing a novel.  Slowly.  So slowly in fact that a stationary snail has probably written more than I have.  So what is my problem? I started writing ‘Three Girls and a Dog’ one day and couldn’t stop and then life happened.  Dance classes and Crossfit and singing and cooking and cleaning and, dare I say it, working, got in the way.  I leave the house every week day at 7.30am and return home at 10.30pm and all I want to do is drink a bottle of wine, watch Cougar Town and sleep until Friday afternoon at 5pm.  Put the phone down…there is no need to call AA.  Yet.  I said that is what I want to do, not what I actually do.  If I was a character in a novel and after page 350 you never heard from me again I would completely do it because characters can get away with anything but alas, I have a real life and real things that need to be done and getting sh*t faced in the middle of the week and not making it to work isn’t really a long term plan.  Not one that comes with private health insurance anyway.

So I continue my journey on the crazy train that leaves on Mondays and returns on Fridays and I whinge and moan about being tired and my friends ignore me because they know as well as I do I bring it on myself.  No one makes me go to all these things, I do it because I love it and I (although it has been proven on many an occasion that I am incapable of it) think of it as multi-tasking; research for my book because man alive do I meet some interesting characters on that train.

So again Natalie, what is the problem?  The problem is the weekend rolls around and do I use all my inspiration from during the week to write write write?  NO.  No I do not.  Am I tired? Yes.  Do I have dance classes and running? Yes.  Do I have socialising to do? Yes.

Are these all just terrible excuses because I am lazy???  YES.

And No.

I feel like jumping up and down, screaming and stamping my feet because I love writing so much but then I get in my OWN DAMN WAY. How can I love something but then deliberately choose to NOT DO IT?  It is something that I am sure a psychologist would have a lot to say about but then I think it is something that happens to writers all the time.  I want to have plenty of money and no work to go to and time to relax and sit down and let the words come to me.  I don’t want to think ‘ok, I’ve got a spare hour at exactly 17.30 – I will write another three chapters’ because that doesn’t work.  I sit and I stare and nuuuh-thing.  But then sometimes, I sit and I stare and whoosh…all the words come at once so why don’t I just do it?  Maybe I am afraid that the words will never come, maybe I don’t like the pressure, maybe I will NEVER KNOW unless I TRY HARDER.  Maybe that is what makes a writer successful – the ability to sit and sit, write nothing but come back the next day for another hour and never give up because they believe that eventually it will work and the frustration will have been 100% worth it.

This weekend I am going to be that person, so fingers crossed I set the heather on fire with my lightening speed typing but if I don’t, hey, there is always the next day.



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