TFFG: Issue Five
Sometimes the writing comes easily – like last week’s newsletter opening. I put my fingers on the keyboard and words started flying out. I imagine it’s how a surfer feels when she times it just right and barrels through the curl of a perfect wave – a total rush.
Other times, writing is hard, painful, agonizing, pointless – like now, for instance. Every word feels forced and wrong and meaningless. Drivel, at best. I struggle to shape my thoughts and no matter the amount of chocolate or caffeine or cocktails I consume I can’t bring order to the chaos. That stupid cursor continues to blink, blink, blink on the blank white screen – waiting, waiting, waiting for me to type something, anything. I have no plan, no point, no path.
The more time that passes, the louder my inner critic gets – like a drill sergeant, right up in my face yelling at me to drop and give him 500 words. And behind the critic is the doubter, wringing her hands saying maybe I’m not a REAL writer, maybe I’m just a hack, maybe this will be the week everyone realizes I’ve been faking it this whole time.
My writing teacher says that in these moments of complete panic to just start writing – don’t think about the words, don’t plan them as they come out, don’t edit them, don’t judge them. Said another way, put yourself in the damn chair and see what happens, see what comes out when you stop trying to control everything.
The same could be said of sheltering in place, don’t you think? There’s only so much we can control here – the rest is a story unfolding, plot points unknown. I can’t even work backwards from a deadline, there isn’t one. All I can do is sit, stay, wait. It seems to work for my dog, who is potentially the happiest creature on the planet – maybe it’ll work for us, too.
