We love to write. It is as natural as breathing and as difficult as breathing underwater. I find myself aching to write, ideas swimming in my brain, screaming for release. I plan. I consider. I plot. I may even jot a few notes here and there (many of which I promptly lose). Worse, I plan out ideas and then forget them!
Then I arrive home from the day job, ready to dive in. But the dogs need to go out. And the Koi swim up and shimmer in the late afternoon sun. And the snowdrops are unfolding in the Secret Garden. And the house is chaotic. And my pencil bouquet needs adjusting. And there are a few emails that need answering. And there are messages on Facebook. And...and...and...
We all do it, don't we? The procrastination that keeps us from writing.
But why? Why do we find a myriad of obstacles when we know the rush we feel when we write, especially when we write something well. We savor the delicious turn of phrase like a perfectly cooked meal. Once I am writing, I don't want to stop. The world diminishes. I am no longer aware of the doggie chin resting on my foot. I don't see the carefully planned writing room with it's real birch branches and bird nests.
I love getting in the half-world of words and creation. I would live there if I could sustain it.
But getting there, the journey, is almost impossible. Everything in my life from my children to my pets to my job to myself throws up obstacles to keep me from actually sitting down and writing.
Why?
It is the thing I love most when I am home. I have made small spaces of writer's retreat throughout my home and yard: the bench under the apple trees covered with vines and flowers and purple grapes; the two benches by the waterfall, bridge and koi pond; the hammock in the walled secret garden surrounded by roses; the Narnia garden under the hanging branches of the willow tree. The platform next to the zen garden with its mini pagoda; the writing room with birch and cardinals; The balcony outside my bedroom; The bistro set on the landing. So many excellent places to write.
So why don't I do it more often?
Avoidance is born of fear. Fear that I won't have a starting place. Fear that what I write will be wasted. Fear that I will not find the secret place where creativity pours forth.
And yet, I always find it. I always create. I always fall into that half-world and return renewed and refreshed, adrenaline filling me with joy.
I resolve to write every day. To find that half-world and make it my dwelling place.
As soon as my desk is clean...
Then I arrive home from the day job, ready to dive in. But the dogs need to go out. And the Koi swim up and shimmer in the late afternoon sun. And the snowdrops are unfolding in the Secret Garden. And the house is chaotic. And my pencil bouquet needs adjusting. And there are a few emails that need answering. And there are messages on Facebook. And...and...and...
We all do it, don't we? The procrastination that keeps us from writing.
But why? Why do we find a myriad of obstacles when we know the rush we feel when we write, especially when we write something well. We savor the delicious turn of phrase like a perfectly cooked meal. Once I am writing, I don't want to stop. The world diminishes. I am no longer aware of the doggie chin resting on my foot. I don't see the carefully planned writing room with it's real birch branches and bird nests.
I love getting in the half-world of words and creation. I would live there if I could sustain it.
But getting there, the journey, is almost impossible. Everything in my life from my children to my pets to my job to myself throws up obstacles to keep me from actually sitting down and writing.
Why?
It is the thing I love most when I am home. I have made small spaces of writer's retreat throughout my home and yard: the bench under the apple trees covered with vines and flowers and purple grapes; the two benches by the waterfall, bridge and koi pond; the hammock in the walled secret garden surrounded by roses; the Narnia garden under the hanging branches of the willow tree. The platform next to the zen garden with its mini pagoda; the writing room with birch and cardinals; The balcony outside my bedroom; The bistro set on the landing. So many excellent places to write.
So why don't I do it more often?
Avoidance is born of fear. Fear that I won't have a starting place. Fear that what I write will be wasted. Fear that I will not find the secret place where creativity pours forth.
And yet, I always find it. I always create. I always fall into that half-world and return renewed and refreshed, adrenaline filling me with joy.
I resolve to write every day. To find that half-world and make it my dwelling place.
As soon as my desk is clean...