It’s
a harder task for some of us than others. I’ve been guilty of being a doormat
in the past, allowing the tide of demands to wash over me, until I was
thoroughly resentful. Learning to say “no” to people and things was a difficult
process for me in my daily life.
Writing
is no different. It’s a precious thing that deserves to be guarded from
incursions. To be certain, most of the things that encroach upon writing are
benign, like that pile of laundry that I really should attack before bedtime.
That last volley of e-mails that we ought to finish for work. Facebook updates.
The phone. Twitter. Television.
Writing
can slide to the bottom of the to-do list, becoming the last thing I hope to
accomplish before we fall into bed at night. Days slide into weeks without
tangible progress. I let the easier things on my to-do list take priority. And
also the ones that are more visible to other people. I’m somehow prouder of a
presentation or a freshly-painted room than something that’s for my eyes only.
There’s immediate positive feedback, a pat on the back right away. Progress on
writing is so often invisible to the world, and it’s easier to mitigate the
importance of it.
But
it’s vital to protect the work in progress, especially in the beginning stages.
A book, or a grain of an idea for a book, is fragile. I’ve got to plant it in a
safe place. It needs the right amount of sunshine and water. I have to put it
first on the to-do list – first thing in the morning, before it gets a chance
to get pushed off.
I’m
not much of a morning person. I always
dreaded the standard writing advice of getting up an hour early to get writing
stuffed into a day. I’d rather pull the covers over my head and finish
dreaming. Even though it’s common advice, it’s good advice. We do first what we
deem to be most important. And I was letting writing drop to the back of the
list, rationalizing that I’d get to it around midnight because I was a night
person. More often than not, I’d wind up vegging in my jammies in front of the
TV.
I
had to learn to create not only priority boundaries, but also time boundaries.
I have to force myself to sit in a chair and not surf the internet, check-email,
or mess with other distractions. It’s only then that I seem to get the really
good stuff done. And…it feels pretty darn good to have that to-do crossed off
my list. The rest of the day feels lighter, sort of virtuous. Charged.
Sometimes, I squeeze in an extra session of writing during the day because the
momentum is so good.
And
I have to defend writing in other ways, too. A new idea may or may not work. I
need some time and space to explore it, so I don’t really talk about it. It’s
too easily bruised and can wither under too much judgment and scrutiny. When
asked, I’ll talk about it in the vaguest of terms: “Oh…it’s a YA story.” “I
think it’s gonna be UF.” But I don’t really know. Not until it’s grown up, and
I can see if it’ll become animal, vegetable, or mineral. Mostly, I don’t need
anybody poking at it. I may decide to go through with the project, or I might
not. I don’t know if it has the shiny yet. It may not make it past thirty
pages. If so, I want to quietly bury it in the backyard without having to
explain myself with a full post-mortem.
There’s
a time for editing, critique, and the harsh polish of good scrutiny. But not
until I’ve worked with it. Not until it’s grown up under my wing and I’ve had a
chance to enhance its strengths and diminish its weaknesses. I don’t want to
subject anybody to a first draft. As I work through a manuscript, I keep notes
of things that need to be fleshed out or fixed. Once it’s complete, before it
goes to any beta readers, I do a round of editing to repair the things I know
need work.
That’s
another odd thing about being a writer: defending the process. To outsiders,
writing can seem like a really self-indulgent process, where not much seems to
be happening. I get to close myself off in a room and stare at a screen for a
long time. Kind of luxurious, hmm? Isn’t there a better use of my time?
Shouldn’t I be going out with friends or scrubbing my grout with a toothbrush?
I’ve
gotten much better about saying “no.” This is work. Just as much as any other.
I have to respect the process and respect myself in doing the process. I have
no problem turning down social invites by saying that “Gee, I’d love to, but
I’m working.” And I am. I have no issues anymore dodging intrusive questions
about what I’m working on or when I’m going to share it. “Soon.” “Someday.”
“When it’s done.” “Not yet.”
So…boundaries.
They’re a good thing. Because that tomato plant needs a cage to protect it from
the garden nibblers. The nibblers are many and varied: time, guilt, demands
from others. I’ve got to put these boundaries in place to allow the project to
produce fruit. And that’s not going to happen if I neglect to water it or let
other people pick at the flowers.
Someday,
I’ll have tomatoes to show. But not yet.
-
Laura Bickle’s professional background is in
criminal justice and library science, and when she’s not patrolling the stacks
at the public library she’s dreaming up stories about the monsters under the
stairs (she also writes contemporary fantasy novels under the name Alayna
Williams). Laura lives in Ohio with her husband and a herd of mostly-reformed
feral cats. Get the latest updates on her work at www.laurabickle.com.
Posts
