I’ve gotten snagged in a period of creative paralysis. There’s a story due to my workshop in two days and instead of writing, I’ve been doodling. There hasn’t even been much joy in it because I merely mimicked someone else’s drawing (in this case, the amazing Lisa Congdon).
The piece I’m supposed to be working on is a rewrite of a problematic first draft from last fall. I had my trusted readers (two talented and driven writers) scheduled to review my work-in-progress three days ago, but I failed to send them anything. Still, every wise coach’s voice is sounding in my head saying all the right things. Meanwhile, I surf, doodle, sleep, walk, eat, drink, complain. I’m feeling toxic, acting toxic.
I have asked myself: do you want permission to stop trying? You can stop. No one cares if you stop.
No. I’m not going to stop. I’m going to walk upstairs with this laptop and I’m going to sit at my desk and I’m going to work.
I’m going to show up. And I’m going to keep showing up.
There doesn’t have to be anything dramatic about it. It’s just a day’s work.