I give up

Dear Mr. Pressfield:

You and other writers who have written writing advice imply a fledgling writer should create a special time to write every day.  It is important to set aside time every day to write.  And while I cannot argue with this logic, I also would like to point out that despite my best efforts, I am unable to appoint time regularly to writing.

Today is the perfect example.  While I had planned to spend most of Saturday afternoon writing, the AC units for my work's server room had a different idea.  During the cold snap, they froze and sent our over-heating servers into safety shutdown.  I spent eight hours at work on Saturday.  Sunday morning, I spent time ironing out any remaining issues left over from the network shut down.

Today, I rose and drank the appropriate amount of caffeine.  I completed the necessary housework.  I found myself in the right frame of mind and started writing.  And the AC unit froze up again.  I spent the afternoon on the phone in my front yard (where the best reception is) organizing a portable AC unit installation, arranging a technician to verify the servers state, and reporting to my superiors.  By the time I returned to my laptop, I was flustered that the time I had cultivated was gone.

I worked anyway - in between, talking to my husband and son, additional texts and emails from work, and laundry.  I have discovered that is the only way to finish this novel - and I want to finish this novel.  While I may always seek the high holy ground of blocks of uninterrupted, perfect writing time, I will write in the trenches around every interruption to finish this damn thing.

I wish someone mentioned that may be an option.  I wish I knew someone published who wrote like this.

Sincerely,

Me

A Message In A Bottle

Dear Steven Pressfield:

I apologize for the lack of letters as of late (and the alliteration).  I have been applying what I learned from your book.  I have a quarter of my novel done and two drafts of a short story completed for submission with an artist’s photographs to a particular publication.  While I am not one hundred percent in writing every day, I am writing every day more than not.  I continue to strive to banish procrastination.

However, I have something I need to talk about and have no one to talk to about it.  Heck, it’s not like we’re going to talk about either since this is a one side conversation, but I hope for better feelings and clarification after I place this message in a bottle.

Saturday morning, I woke for my typical potty break (it’s hell getting old).  I couldn’t tell you what happened in my brain during those few moments, whether a chemical imbalanced caused the realization or if something from a dream clung on.  By the time I returned to bed, I was in a full-blown panic attack. 

Forty-eight hours had passed since I asked for help from my husband on the next draft of my short story.  Not only had he not responded via e-mail (which is how I sent him a copy of the draft), he had not mentioned my e-mail or my story in passing as we lived together under the same roof.  As I reeled under the revelation, with my heart racing in my throat and limbs twitching with adrenaline, I figured out that my husband and best friend had not read the first seven chapters of my novel after I made the request.

My husband had read the first chapter shortly after the request some weeks ago.  He frightened me on the couch with a loud, adamant statement that I was an idiot and a good writer.  It took a while for his word to penetrate my thick skull.  My ego devoured them like a nearly-dead, starving man.  Over the next few days, I found it easier to write. 

But that night in bed, I slammed back into the dark earth of my depression with the thought that he hadn’t read the other chapters.  Several weeks had passed and he hadn’t read beyond the first chapter.  My best friend hadn’t read any.

What does it say about you as a writer when your best friend and husband don’t read your work?  I went for a walk after forty-five minutes of twitching in my bed trying not to cry.  The walk took the adrenaline out of my limbs, but it didn’t do anything to stop the hard, sharp ache in my chest.  For as long as I could, I avoided talking about it.  Eventually, my husband dragged the realization out of me.

As I predicted early in our fight, he felt guilty.  He stated that I should know how he is with things he has to read.  It was like he punched me in the chest.  As soon as he said the words, he tried to taking them back.  But no matter what the judge says, the jury cannot unheard testimony.

What does it say about you as a writer when your best friend and husband, the people who love you, don’t want to read your work? 

Despite the distractions of a family birthday part and coffee with a good friend and her daughter, I couldn’t stop the bleeding in my soul.  I contemplated giving up writing.  Every time I did, I cried uncontrollably.  I thought about killing myself because what would be the point of me.  I was a failure.  All that would be left in my life would be a shitty job I hated and a quiet home life.  All my therapeutic methods would have to be redone since I used story to calm and console myself. 

When I woke this morning, I was still raw.  I found postings in my streams and blogs I follow filled with helpful, supportive things.  Now, I face a thought of writing without an audience or any support.  Didn’t you say writers need other writers?  I have no one and have no idea how to find someone.  How can I ever hope to improve as a writer in a vacuum?

I don’t know what to do.  Any advice would be appreciated.  When you have the time.

Thanks,

Me

Brain-damaged

Dear Steven Pressfield:

I am going to have myself checked for brain damaged.  I don't know why I don't write every day.  When I do write, I feel good afterward.  I feel accomplished.  Even if everything I write is dreck, I know it will end up helping out in the end (if nothing more than to get the dreck out of my system so something good can come along).

On the days I don't write, I don't feel like this.  I went 600 words over my word count goal.  My back hurts because my chair sucks.  I write at the tiniest writing desk.  I forgot my wireless mouse in the living room, but I wrote 600+ words because - I couldn't tell you why.  The demon monkeys from the back of my brain say it's because I'm competing with other writers (and I may be too, but that isn't the whole reason like they vote). Maybe the two worst influence at my paycheck job are gone; I can stay a bit more positive at work. I would like to say it's because I wanted to feel good.

I like feeling good.  I'm going to try this again tomorrow night.

Sincerely,
Me

Add meat or cut the fat

Dear Steven Pressfield:

When creating a first draft or rough draft, is it better to be sparse or bountiful?  When editing, should I cut or add?

Yeah.  No one answers THOSE questions.

Sincerely,
Me

Fall in love

Dear Steven Pressfield:

After reading some other writers' recent blog posts about the joy of writing, I have decided I need to return to my love of writing.  I am putting the fear and worry away.  I am giving up hopes of being respected or even read.  I am focusing on simply enjoying myself.

Can I schedule falling in love?

Sincerely,
Me

Done

Dear Steven Pressfield,


I have finished editing the first part of my novel.  It needs a lot of work.  Should I edit part two, rewrite part one or plot part three?


Sincerely,
Me

Energy

Dear Steven Pressfield,


I have been putting my time in.  No matter how tired I am after dinner, I have been editing my novel.  Last night, I fell asleep with my pen on my print out in bed I was so tired.  I even put a light on my notebook I use for backing.  


My current problem is energy level.  I understand what you say when you have to fight.  I have many writer demons.  However, my daytime job has been very demanding lately.  By the time I come home, I am exhausted.  Finding the energy to fight my demons has proven difficult if not impossible.  The work goes slow because I don't have the strength to tell myself that all first drafts suck and it can be better because I'll fix the next draft.  


From your stories in your book, it sounds like you didn't have a daytime job or a husband or a child that needed your attention.  Maybe you did.  I wish you had a chapter on how to deal with the guilt.  Missing Watergate - who cares?  Missing a birthday or homework or connecting with a spouse creates an awful amount of guilt.


Sincerely,
Me

The first post is the hardest

Dear Steven, Pressfield, 

I feel like a kid picking at her dinner plate.  All that is left is vegetables - yucky ones like brussel sprouts or steamed green peppers.  I use my fork to push the unwanted and undesired food around the empty plate.  The echoes of my mom's warning, "You won't leave that table until your plate is clean!" echo in my head.

That's how I feel when I sit down to write.  One of the tenants is "It's not the writing part that's hard.  What's hard is sitting down to write."

Yes, sitting down to write is hard.  I can come up with fifty thousand excuses, some very valid, on why I should put off sitting down to write.  I play flash games.  I stack dishes.  I call people I've been avoiding.  I am truly amazed with what I can come up with as reasons or excuses not to write.

However, I find it is just as difficult once I set my ass in the chair and pull up whatever I'm working on.  I have to fight a whole new set of demons who are dead set that I am the most horrific writer that has ever lived.  After winning the fight to sit to write, all I win is another fight.  And after I defeat the "You Suck" demons, I have the demons who want to nitpick everything and the demons who wonder what's the point of writing when no one's ever going to read it.

And on and on it goes. Row after row.  Fight after fight until I end up that disinterested writer just pushing unwanted and undesired words around my clean page.  

I am writing this blog because I have no one I can talk to about writing.  So, I am going to pretend you read these so I won't be so alone and won't worry that I will fail as a pro because I don't have a support circle or safety net.  I hope you don't mind.

Sincerely,
Me