Writing is a discipline – anyone out there doing it with a life overflowing at the rim can tell you that. I think about writing as if from the trenches, a reporter of sorts living and breathing with helmet on, foxhole teeming with the things waiting to be written.
When procrastination strikes and my writing deadlines loom, I can certainly look to resources outside of myself – like Tweets that link to articles on how to get over the hump: “7 coercive Tactics That Will Force You to Write”.
More powerful for me is to ponder why I write in the first place. I’ll never forget a trip to the Eastern Block in 1980 when there still was one. East Germany and Czechoslovakia – thousands and thousands of people living in towns where I only saw a handful on the street; quiet and private, because they had to be. Even the college students I met were tight-lipped with their opinions on everything.
So, having not forgotten those places at those times, I write to speak with the freedom my voice gives me. I write to transform a page, a screen, and a mind with words and images that are eternal. I write because if I do not, I have imposed a mediocre existence on myself. I write because I am free to say what my mind imagines is worth writing. I AM A WRITER! And, WRITERS WRITE.
But, if this doesn’t work for me on a given day, then I employ the following two hardcore fail-safes. First, I imagine I can talk with me in the future, when I am let’s say, 85-years old. She tells me every time that writing made her life happy, and was necessary to take our life to its major stopovers. If I’m still not moved, then I imagine I get the chance to speak with me at a much younger age, let’s say, 8-years old. She tells me that writing will free her from her prison of a world not seeing her for who she is.
By the time I am done giving these tools their full attention, I am happy to be writing from the trenches. I AM COMPELLED TO WRITE OR I NEED TO CHECK MY PULSE.
I wish you HAPPY WRITING!