Saturday Night’s All Right for Procrastinating

I actually have written more than 690 words. This stat is from April’s Camp NaNoWriMo project. I started the project during last November for NaNoWriMo.

Even my writing app, Writeometer, knows I’m no good. I am horrible at keeping any kind of writing schedule, and this app is happy to let me know it. Because of the subject matter of the project in question, I’ve set a goal date to be finished with a first draft for April 18, 2017.

I missed that. Now, the app is glad to tell me that I’ll be missing that goal for years to come if I don’t buckle down.

See? Here I am not writing my novel draft, yet I have plenty of motivation to write a post about my friend Procrastination. I have also just updated my journal for the past week ( I just plain don’t have the energy most nights to keep up) and now I am ready to read before crashing in a few hours.

All the while, the writing project is in the back of my brain, muttering and wringing its hands, wondering if I am am ignoring it on purpose. I suppose I kind of am ignoring it. But the project ought to be used to that by now. Yet I feel the waves of failure wash over me. 

If I had a secret that would let me sit and write, I’d be a happy, productive soul. Of course, I know that secret: sit your ass in the chair and do the work. I have heard that voice for so long now, it’s really become an old friend.

Or a frenemy.

Either way, I think I will delete that damn app. Who does it think it’s talking to, anyway? 

Maybe I’ll write for an hour before lights out tonight. Don’t judge me, Writeometer.  I think I know me better than you do. 

I’ll live another day to (think about/attempt to/take a weak stab at) this writing thing. And to heck with your word counts. Word counts are for Wrimos, and I have proven four times over that I’m not a Wrimo. 

I’m just a depressed creative type who needs to get her mojo back. I’ll just be over here, looking for that. I am sure I lost it somewhere nearby.





Always at War With My Words

I am always fighting a war against myself. I want to fight back, I am tired of the battle. What better way for a writer do that, than with words? 

I am starting this blog because it seems I am very able to write about not writing much better than doing the writing I long to be doing. 

I really feel that I am at war with myself, with my words. I fight them every time I succeed in distracting myself from writing by doing anything else but my writing. 

I know that it’s partially because of my depression. But I beat myself up nonetheless. I want to stop being so hard on myself, but it isn’t my first instinct to give myself a break. 

I’m working on a novel I started in November of last year. Yes, NaNoWriMo lured me into telling myself I could achieve the impossible by pressuring myself to write 50,000 words in 30 days. I have only written half of what I have in my head. Every time I start a new idea, I never stick to it, and I end up with many projects that didn’t click with me.

This new novel is different, it does click with me. But I still have to fight myself to make the time to sit my ass in the chair and get the words out. One word at a time, for days, weeks, and months at a time. It’s exhausting to think about.

And this is my plan: start a low pressure writing place. Here I can vent at myself, my writing, my lack of ability to get my life where I expect it to be. Hopefully I will learn to give myself a break a little. I am also curious to know what role my depression takes in my process, and I am trying learn more about depression and writers, creativity and anxiety, and other fun, similar topics.

 I lost both my father and a childhood friend in 1993, within three months of each other. I have never been the same person I was before they died. This is another issue I am trying to make peace with. I now struggle to make most of my ideas happen, and before, when I was younger, you couldn’t stop me from creating.

Now I am fifty, only a few years younger than my father was when he died. I want to recover some of the passion I was able to channel into my creative life before I just give up and give into the naps the anti anxiety meds make me fall into.

I will march forward, then, and bring back regular reports from the front, and updates on my battles at the enemy line. I feel less brave than I wish I did.