At the end of last year, I promised myself that I wouldn't stress myself out trying to do All The Things. I had some deadlines hitting, and I knew that if I beat myself up over not writing, it'd make it all much worse.For me, things accumulate — I'm not writing, I'm working twelve-hour days, I'm not getting enough sleep, I'm stressed...I have to be so careful because of the fibro and trigeminal neuralgia. I could put myself into a major flare that could take months to recover from.
And who the heck needs that on top of everything else?
So I was pretty much okay and zen about it.
Then...my muse started whispering things to me again.
"You're not writing. You're wasting valuable time."
"You're feeling okay today. How about a few hundred words?"
"That idea I gave you last week would be perfect to dive into! What are you waiting for?"
Ugh. Sometimes — okay, most of the time — she's relentless. And a bit psychotic. I put up with it because when she's good...she's phenomenal. When she's like this...not so much.
The other thing is that if I am not being creative on a regular basis, I fall into a depression. I feel worthless. Life has no meaning. Part of me is missing, like an amputated limb. It is absolutely one of worst states to be in, and I actively try to avoid that.
There's only one way to relieve it. By being creative.
So for January and most of this month, I've been fighting my way back. I'm in a pretty busy period right now, the feast part of the freelancer life, and I have a few deadlines hitting almost at the same time. I've been using every method I can think of to squeeze more time out of my day, which includes getting up earlier and trying to wake my brain up and trying to be productive. It's been working about half the time. The other half? I'm falling asleep at my desk. I'm really not meant for mornings, but productivity! must! happen!
(I do love my job. None of this is a complaint. I freely agreed to these deadlines, knowing the potential pitfalls and cost. I truly believe in being able to take on anything I can to give my clients the best service.)
So, anyway...I was able to write here and there. But that did not make me feel better. It made me feel worse. My head wasn't in the game, and I had to actually reread the last few pages of my manuscript because I'd forgotten where I'd left off. So yesterday, I said, "Screw this. I can find fifteen minutes somewhere. Hell, sometimes I take breaks to surf the internet or read an article. I can certainly write instead."
The last time I did this was back in 2007 when both my parents were having surgeries back to back. It was a crazy, chaotic, exhausting time. Working forty hours at the day job. Going to the hospital after a quick dinner. Hanging out during visiting hours. Traveling home. Collapse. Rinse and repeat.I knew, as I know now, that I needed writing to keep me sane and grounded. Writing isn't just escapism or something fun to do — it's my primary way to deal with life and stress. So I said I'd give myself fifteen minutes a day to write. I was pretty sure I didn't have the energy to do more than that anyway, but I wanted to keep it simple and easy.
When all was said and done, I'd added 50,000 words to the book I was writing. As it turns out, I can bang out 700 to 1,000 words in fifteen minutes if it's flowing. But even 300 or 400 words is fine. It's the consistency and taking the time to dip into my own little world that is important.
So, this is what I'll be doing until things calm down. Hopefully, I can rack up the words, feed my muse, and have a bit of respite from the chaos.
And when the muse whispers in my ear, I can finally say, "Sure! Let's do this!"
Win-win.
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