The Dishwasher

When I was a kid, we were assigned chores. One of them was emptying the dishwasher. This rather mindless task can be accomplished in five minutes, but I would dread when it was my turn because it was my least favorite chore. In my mind, emptying the dishwasher must have actually taken two hours because that's how long this stupid task seemed to take.

I still hate emptying the dishwasher. In fact, if Oldest Son is anywhere in the house, it's HIS chore and I will instead clean the counters and scrub the table and take out the trash. But if he's not home, it gets emptied anyway--by me. I guess that's because that is what moms do. Or grownups.

Anyway, in thinking about how much I loathe emptying the dishwasher (second only to matching and folding socks), I thought about how when you're a kid, chances are you didn't VOLUNTEER to do anything boring. No raking leaves, or mowing the lawn, or emptying the dishwasher, or taking out the trash unless it was court-ordered (a.k.a. Mom made you) or money was involved.

Then you become a grownup and not only do you do all THOSE thankless chores, you do a million others from the moment you open your eyes until the moment your head hits the pillow.

Which got me thinking about writing. Because I can tell you that lately . . . writing has NOT been fun. Oh, yes, I have blog days when I can say, "I love being a writer because I get to make up stuff for a living," blah, blah, blah. If I read that today, I would make MYSELF puke. Hormonal? Maybe. Crabby? Possibly. But the fact is, I am a writing mess. I have multiple works in progress, none of which I WANT to work on (except Magickeepers II--just in case my editor is reaidng this). I feel uninspired with my grownup work. I am not having fun. Head . . . meet desk. Pound.

But here's the thing. As a "real" writer (a.k.a. a grownup, not a kid), I have to work through it. I have the dishwasher days. And I have the days when I can just lie in bed with Demon Baby and watch "Wow, Wow Wubzy." There are the dishwasher days . . . and the days when it really is fun and everything seems to flow.

I don't know if writers talk about the dishwasher days much. But I'm here to say I have them. And I am in the midst of emptying the silverware and the cup rack as I speak.

But grownups get on their keyboard and do it anyway. 'Cause we just do. And I think those that succeed know that and just work through it.

Thoughts?

Under My Rock

If you've ever gotten up at 4:00 a.m. to write because you are on deadline, or you have ever lost sleep over your work in progress . . . if you've given up all sorts of free time and activities to pursue writing . . . if you have agonized over whether or not you are a hack, whether or not you even HAVE a book in you, or THIS book in you, you have probably asked yourself . . . WHY? Why do it?

As I tell elementary school kids when I talk about writing . . . a writer isn't something you BECOME. It is something you ARE. You may become a better writer, or a publishable writer because of long hours practicing your craft, but you were born a storyteller, a communicator, a writer.

Which brings me to this blog post. I know writers who have been working and working, unpublished for a while, when they each got a request from an editor. In a couple of cases, it was a request from an agent. Those editors and agents wanted to see "the full." And . . . in each case the writer "choked." Never sent it. Talked themselves out of it. Didn't actually have it finished and didn't ever finish. Whatever the scenario, it's a hell of a lot more common than you might think.

And somewhere along the way . . . I think, for them, they froze when the writing became less about the PROCESS--"Hey, I'm creating"--and more about the GOAL--"I want an agent; I want to be published." And somewhere, that shift became a death knell on creativity. The writer froze. It stopped being fun.

So now what?

Well, for me, when I am "stuck" someplace in that regard, I have to look at WHY. And usually, when I lift up that particular rock in that particular dark recess of my particular mind, and shine a flashlight at the creepy-crawly bugs, what I find is FEAR. Because if you SEND your great magnum opus to an editor who requests it or an agent who wants to see more, and they reject it, you can no longer avoid the truth--which MAY be that you're not ready. Which MAY be that all those insecure voices in your head are right. And so . . . you freeze up.

Or it may be something else entirely.

I know writers that never, ever finish anything. Ever. They convince themselves that it's no good and move on to the next great idea. And they keep doing that over and over and avoid the agent search. They don't have to get a professional opinion. They've already got a veritable Greek chorus of opinions in their head.

So how can you make the shift from writing for the process of it, to writing for a goal? And keep it fun, still a joy (if joy includes the occasional banging of the head against the desk)?

For me . . . it's a reminder, a constant reminder, that this biz is subjective. You need to find ONE editor or agent who likes your stuff. It's somewhat a numbers game and not giving up. And I think you need to not think of each work as your "only chance" to break in. It may be the third book or the tenth. You have to be in it for the long haul, not the forty-yard dash, and so it's OK if along the way you take some rejection, or you learn that you still have a lot to learn. If you give yourself that permission . . . . then it's still a process on the WAY or the PATH to the goal. But the goal is there--up ahead--somewhere. You don't know when. You don't know the timing. And that's OK. That's just how the universe works.

Thoughts????