A few months back, I read a post about writing through the
impossible. You
can read it here.
I thought about the very first project I had scheduled to
pen, a chapter book that I thought could be my magnum opus. (It wasn’t.
It would be three more years before I began to know what I was doing.)
My youngest was about to start kindergarten, and for the
first time in years I would have mornings to myself. I had dreamt of writing in
a disciplined way for many years, but it never seemed possible.
It felt like it was a now-or-never sort of deal.
I got all the equipment I thought I needed. A year or two
later, much of it became irrelevant as I learned how and what works for me, and
the computer replaced most of these supplies/tools. But in late August of 2001
I thought I needed special paper, colored pencils, and a fine notebook with
removable pages that would make the re-arranging (think cut-and-paste) and,
what else—a quiet workspace in the corner of our bedroom.
Most important was the dedication to spending two solid
hours every weekday morning at my desk. No ifs, ends, or buts. Only a personal
medical emergency would override this solemn vow from me to me.
One week into it came a fateful Tuesday morning when our world
came to a standstill. Yup, September 11, 2001. My husband was glued to CNN, and
I, seeing the old pattern of excuses for why I couldn’t do what I had
vowed to, made the intelligent decision to not give in this time. My two daily hours with the work I had assigned myself to complete were first, no
matter that the world seemed on fire.
I recited the saying, if the world is going to end tomorrow, plant a tree.
It was one of the best decisions I ever made. To this day, I
keep this vow. I will not allow anything to interfere with self-assigned
writing work, be it feeling a bit sick, difficult chapters in personal
relations, world crises, or just loss of motivating thread for a story.
I plow through. It’s a “just do it,” allowing myself to
exceed the minimum but never do less.
Because what I have realized is that it isn’t the product or
the quality of the writing experience. For me it’s the very work discipline
that has been my salvation through the thick and the thin of life’s ever
undulating thread weaving the fabric of time.
