 Yes. You guessed it. A deadline is a writer's best friend. Writers need deadlines, even self-imposed ones. If you're like me and you still manage to slip by the guards, you may need to toss in a dash of public accountability. This is where my critique group has been key to progress. I write the words down, but I seriously doubt I'd have brought two novels into the world with one in the oven if the deadline of a monthly critique group didn't force me to write.  But, for a slacker and master procrastinator like me--it's still not enough. I don't want to painfully squeeze out a chapter here and a blog entry there under duress, the sharp curve of a swinging pendulum slowly descending upon me. After all--I like writing. I love it. It's the very air that I breathe. So, why do I avoid it like a teenage crush: hiding behind my locker door, slipping into class and slumping in my seat, pretending to read to avoid unintentional eye contact? Fear. I think I'm afraid. There, I've said it. Perhaps this is the imposter syndrome I've heard about. Whatever I've written up until the next moment I write that is at all entertaining, enjoyable or that somehow seems to be making sense as a cohesive story is clearly a fluke. Dumb luck. Chance.  My streak is sure to run out and I fear that the next time I sit down to write I just won't do the rest of the piece justice. Perhaps that's why revision can sometimes seem more attractive as a task because I've already figured out the full story, the characters and most details. I simply need to polish them up, perhaps shift them around--or maybe rewrite whole passages entirely. But, this ends now. (I hope:) With the new year standing right outside my door, I am going to rely on a writer's second best friend: a closed door to a quiet space. Eureka! Only days ago (two to be exact:) did I discover that my husband, who had been occupying the "office" space in our house for the better part of the last two years--while I took up residence in the equivalent of a busy hotel lobby in our living room--is now in the "real" office three days a week. The room that had been "his" can be adopted and adapted as "ours." What a discovery. It only took me two full months to realize it. So, I go into the new year with new hope that I can ignore my fears, pay more attention to deadlines and more consciously enter a room where writing happens--not laundry or phone calls or dishes or a cat being adorable. Just writing. Here's to finding some space for passion in the new year. And deadlines! I gave myself twenty minutes to write this:) It may not be perfect, but it's done.  Comments are closed.
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