It Really Is All About Me

I’ve been seriously living the Writing Life for six years. Six incredibly long and impossibly short years. And the whole time, every second of every minute of every hour of every day of every week of every month of every year, I had to decide whether or not I was going to write or do something else.
artist trading card by heidi2524 You can look anywhere and to anyone to be inspired and motivated. But ultimately it comes down to what you do with the time you are given.

My passion for telling stories is the reason I write. My passion to be a New York Times Bestseller is the reason I edit. My family and friends are very supportive. They accept and (mostly) understand this is part of who I am right now.

Sometimes I don’t.

And that’s when the weakest link in my chain forms a crack.

I’ve read a lot of author blogs and interviews and talked in person to some fabulous people. At some point, from what I can tell, all authors develop a crack in their chain.

Even Neil Gaiman.

Sometime I can spot weld the crack by writing – just get some words on the page, tell myself I only need 500 words on the page, and be pleasantly surprised by the time I stop typing, that there’s over 1000 words on the page.

Sometimes I let the link break, completely, and spend hours playing a computer game. This is my down time, I’m offline, unplugged, eating cheesecake before a pizza dinner and tomorrow is a new day. When tomorrow comes, I hook the chain together with a new link and decide I’m going to write.

James A. Owen said it best in Drawing Out the Dragons

If you really want to do something, no one can stop you. But if you really don’t want to do something, no one can help you.

6 responses on “It Really Is All About Me

  1. Colette

    Great post, Heidi. I had one of those moments recently. Personally, I go for the cookie dough, but like you, after a breather I jump back in again. Writing is a part of who I am.

  2. David C

    Hmm. I make a distinction between between procrastination and distraction.

    When I procrastinate (which, all modesty aside, I am supremely gifted at), I don’t even admit to myself that I need to be working.

    Distraction, on the other hand, occurs when I have decided that I need to be writing, and I’m actually sitting in the chair, and yet somehow things (like the Mah Jongg game on my phone) just keep interfering in the process, and no words get committed.

    Of course, the end result is the same–no words. But I usually feel guiltier about distraction than I do procrastination. Dunno why, but I do.

    I’ve been experiencing a lot of guilt lately.

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