A few weeks ago, I spent three days writing in silence. Well, it wasn’t completely quiet. I called home a few times to check in, conversed over lunch and dinner with a few lovely ladies who cooked my meals, and gave a reassuring “Hello, yes, hello!” to the red-winged blackbird that hovered anxiously overhead when I took a walk along the farm roads.
But in those three days, I rewrote the outline for my novel, pushed through the first section where I’d been circling for months, discovered the ending–the ending!–and cried. A good cry.
Absolutely everything went right.
Then, I went home and fell flat on my face.
Okay, that’s not exactly true. I fell into four loads of laundry. Then, I worked too many days at the day job, hosted plenty of after-school playdates, attended a wedding, the reception, doctor’s appointments, baseball games, softball–all good things. Nothing out of the ordinary, really. But somewhere in the mix of living, that sordid thinking about writing–the kind that takes over like a weed if I let it–crept into my daily to-do list: I can’t do this. Writing a novel is a ridiculous idea. I might as well quit.
That, after a great weekend of work! It never fails to amaze me how quickly the tides turn when pursuing a passion.
Anyway, I won’t tell you how many days (was it weeks?) I moped around. Pouted. Felt sorry for myself. What I will tell you is a list of what held me captive in that ugly place of wanting to quit and what pulled (or pushed) me out of it.
The Don’t do’s when you really feel like quitting:
1. Don’t write a list of past, present, and future failures. It won’t change yesterday, and it doesn’t help today. What’s that they say about failing? Here’s a good one:
It is impossible to live without failing at something unless you live so cautiously that you might as well not have lived at all, in which case you have failed by default. ~ J.K. Rowling
Besides, that list usually has little to do with writing the novel, and failing at dinner doesn’t mean you’ll fail at writing.
2. Don’t analyze blog stats, compare your status on Facebook with every other writer on Facebook, or despair over the lack of notifications in your Twitter feed. Comparing and contrasting in the middle of a meltdown is recipe for disaster. Or, maybe a hefty load of jealousy, and…well…word to the wise:
The jealous are troublesome to others, but a torment to themselves.
~ William Penn
Oh, how we writers love to be martyrs.
3. Don’t turn to Netflix. One might argue with me here. If you can watch episode after episode from past seasons of your favorite comedy show and feel inspired to run to your laptop and crank out a post or a short story or a new scene to the novel? Great, chalk Netflix up as Savior and kick it to the Do’s list below. IF, like me, you watch show after show during that last hour of the evening when you should be/could be writing and each hearty laugh carries you into yet another episode so that it’s suddenly 1am and you’re staring wide-eyed at your iPad knowing the next day you’ll be so exhausted you won’t write even if you really didn’t feel like quitting? Then, you know, skip Netflix. Or, at least put a timer on it.
The Do’s: Short and Sweet.
1. Read. Pick up that book that’s been sitting on your nightstand by that author you’d love to emulate and read. Not so much for study as for spark. For passages that leave you satiated and satisfied for a week. Read with a pencil, so you can underline those phrases. And, if you can find a willing audience (or a quiet room), read books out loud. There’s something about hearing the words as well as seeing them that’s feel-good inspiring.
2. Commit. This is, by far, the best advice I can offer for pushing through the quitting blues: get yourself an obligation. Sign up for a writing commitment of one kind or another. Coffee dates, author readings, a writing group (even if you go just to listen)…something that forces you to spend time with like-minded writers, because I guarantee you aren’t the only one feeling like quitting. You know what helped me most in the last two weeks? First, setting a date and meeting with a new writing friend for coffee; she showed me some really cool ways she’s incorporating art with her words. Second, volunteering at a new literary journal. It’s unpaid work, yes, but as soon as I committed myself to do something for another writer, even if it was confined to reading through submissions or editor applications, I could not, in good conscience, pull the plug on my own life as writer.
3. Write. I know, I know, how can you write if you don’t feel like writing ever again? Consider it writing for release. Not those repeated lists of failures, but maybe (if this works for you) a letter to your muse. This blog post didn’t start out as a Do’s and Don’t’s. It started out as a “poor me” letter to whomever was paying attention:
Here’s an honest post. For the last two weeks I have fought tooth and nail to stop myself from pulling the plug. To quit the urge to quit. I do not want to write this post. Nobody likes a poor me post about how hard it is to write.
Then, I sat for a good ten minutes and stared into the white light of the screen. Maybe I checked Facebook….
Not it’s time to go to bed and I still have nothing.
So, I saved the post, shut down my computer, went to bed. The next day, I folded some laundry. I read a submission for this new literary magazine, emailed my thoughts to the editor-in-chief, and I felt better. Rejuvenated. For no good reason, except that I had waited just long enough for the tides to turn again. And, when they did, I sat back down at the computer and wrote for real.
What are your do’s or don’ts when your hand is reaching for the white flag?
