A day in the life…

I don’t know how many times I have had writing mentors pound their (imaginary) podium with the number one advice that writer’s MUST listen to.

JUST WRITE, they lament endlessly.

And my lazy writing soul kicks and screams in protest. I don’t have anything to write about, this well is dry!

Well, that is a lie. When I lay back in my bed waiting for sleep to finally come, a thousand thoughts and lines and scenes flip through my head like a slideshow. And what do I do? Nothing, because I’m lazy. As a writer, I know that once I turn on that flow, there is no telling how far it will take me, or how long into the night I will scribble it all down. I want sleep, I want comfort. So, I ignore the very thing that I use as an excuse for not writing. I do have something to write down, I just don’t feel like chasing it.
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Besides having another detrimental creative thinking trait (perfectionism), I also have my laziness. How is it I can be so lazy about something I love so much? But, I know I’m not the only one.

I watch many people’s lives go by as they wait around, lazily, for something remarkable to happen. Well, that road leads nowhere. In fact, it makes me think of the Robert Frost poem:

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

I let life get in the way of writing, even though I know writing is an invaluable part of my life, an integral part of me. I’ve been writing since I can remember. When I was a child I would write endlessly, in all different mediums. Most famously, my newspaper that I “printed” to my family members called The Daily House. I could say that life was easier then, I didn’t have so many worries and pressing priorities. I was always exploring and creating within my own head. I was so wired on this incessant need to be doing and making that my room was this crazy mess that I literally rearranged a thousand times- to fit whatever mood or needs I had at the time.
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So, do I give in to the endless excuses of no time, no motivation, and like the Robert Frost poems suggests- too many draws on my focus to be able to stop and be me? It’s so easy. So so easy. It’s almost like a rut. I’ve been doing it for so long- sleep, eat, school, fiancΓ©, family, friends, study, read…

I have an incredibly wonderful life and boundless blessings. I couldn’t be happier. But I want to live and create, and I need to find the time for the special parts of me. The writing, the creating. The end to the listlessness when I could be doing something other than vegging on my couch.

So, for today I am going to tackle some of these. I have a shadowbox to fill, some scrapbooking to do, and I am going to write for myself today. Not a blog, not a school paper, not a letter. Just whatever comes.

I hope everyone is having a great Labor Day weekend and finding some much needed time for yourself!

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