Holy shit. I am so terribly uninspired to write. #amwriting #inspiredtowrite
It honestly feels like every single letter I am typing right now is an effort. My phalanges are lead, people. LEAD. (I just typed that sentence and stopped for several minutes because it was too much. My eyes rolled back and my hands twitched a bit as I instructed them to keep writing but instead they just fell off the laptop and into my lap and stayed there for ages before I eventually willed them to keep typing. Why does this happen? It really shouldn’t be so hard.)
Every now and again, I am taken over by this overpowering lethargy. It basically only happens on days where I don’t have a lot to do. Where I have time that I could be using for writing but instead, I have, for some reason or another, decided not to. (Something that has occurred a lot in this year of self employment, see other blog!)
Right now, it’s Saturday. I bailed on all social events. They just seemed WAY too much effort. But I have almost immediately regretted my decision. And now I’m angry at myself for not writing, not being social AND I didn’t exercise today. Like …Why Amie? What the shit?
FYI I just took a five minute break to go on Facebook, scroll, become bored, re-press the home button, scroll and then re-press the home button again, I never really know how many times I repeat this ritual but I assume it’s terrifyingly more than I realise.
I’m not sure that these moods are common in all writers. But in case they are, I am documenting it LIVE.
My partner, James, often tells me when I get into these moods, that it is OKAY to have days when you don’t do anything. When you don’t write, or see people, or workout – when you, as I have done today, lie in-front of the TV and consume silly shows in the never ending netflix wormhole. I hear James’s words. I even think I believe them. But the self loathing only subsides for about a minute. (Speaking of a minute. I just stopped writing for several minutes and used them to stare into the fridge. I need to go food shopping, but I probably won’t do it today).
As an unpublished writer I spend a whole lot of my life making sure that I write. Making sure that I am disciplined. I’ve written IG posts about this before. As writers without contracts, we have to be meticulously, consistantly disciplined and in control of our schedules. Because:
No one else in this entire world will make you write your book apart from you.
Isn’t that terrifying? It scares me shitless, and consequentially, I am (for the most part) strict with myself about using my spare time writing. So when I get days like this … when I just FURKKK around being a SLURB, I fall into a funny little pit of self loathing. I am angry at myself for not doing any thing productive, which ironically prevents me from doing anything productive.
I try my hardest to never let these kind-off days happen in my life because spare time should equal writing time, if I’m not writing, I should be doing something productive with my day. No one else is going to make me write. It is my job to never let these days happen. But they do happen, and they will keep happening. Maybe not often. But still often enough. I know deep down that I shouldn’t be angry at myself for happening upon a day of nothing, but it is very hard to stop the self loathing from bubbling up.
Let it be known that at this point I abandoned writing this blog to watch the Gilmore Girls. I also got my food shopping done. (Can’t believe it!)
I think as writers, or perhaps just as humans, we have to learn to balance two huge opposing forces. The need to keep ourselves accountable. There will be times when we do need to whip our own booties into shape when we just can’t be fucked to focus on our goals. That’s not okay. That’s not fair to ourselves. BUT we need to balance this side of ourselves with unlimited patience and extraordinary acts of self love.
How we go about this, I do not know. But I don’t think that this horrible Saturday I just created for myself really needed to happen. I desperately needed to shut off the taskmaster within me. I needed to be gentle. I needed to LISTEN to myself. To ask myself repeatedly; Amie, are you okay? What do you want right now? What do you need? I will get it for you. I will make it happen. Do not stress. Do not panic. Do not get angry. You do not need to chastise yourself. You are completely enough, even when you feel lost and hopeless and uncreative and useless. You are a complete human being, and you deserve love. What do you need right now Amie? I will go and get it for you.
God I wish I had done that today.
I blame my inner critic for not being kind enough to myself, but I also do not think that our society is a fan of self love. How will you ever make it rich if you’re easy on yourself? Says some fucked article shared on Facebook by a friend who thinks they’re motivating their network. No one ever got successful by being soft on themselves, says the scary, dick head corporate man. We are not encouraged to take it easy. We are not taught how to love ourselves.
Perhaps it is a rebellious act to love ourselves unconditionally.
I’ve never been much of a rebel, perhaps that is why I find it so hard. But I will endeavour, my creative friends, endeavour to rebel, endeavour to ask myself If I’m okay, to serve myself on those lazy Saturdays, so that later in the week I can serve my writing, serve my friends, serve you.