Making time to write with a day job and family obligations isn’t easy. Neither are the isolation that comes with the act of writing and the rejections all writers must face. Often the barriers that stand between our intentions and our writing seem insurmountable.
When I teach my Get the Writing Habit class, I ask the participants to make a list of everything they can think of that stops them from writing. I won’t let them quit until they’ve come up with at least 20 items. Their complaints range from having no writing space to significant others who don’t understand them. They kvetch about the puppy that poops beneath their desk and a computer that works only sporadically. They gripe about mean editors and not being good enough.
Once the lists are completed, together we read them aloud with feeling. As the rising cacophony of whining, ranting and wailing fills the room, the whole atmosphere magically changes. When the last lament has been voiced, we sit silently feeling how we are affected by the experience. Some say it sets their teeth on edge. Others are queasy. Headaches and muscle pains aren’t uncommon. A few people feel like crying. No one feels like writing.
After we’ve processed the power of hopelessness, I have them go through their lists again and rephrase each complaint as a question. "I can't write because my kids always interrupt me," becomes "How can I get my kids to stop interrupting me so I can write?" "My computer is ready to die," is transformed into "How can I get a reliable computer?"
Once a complaint becomes a query, its nature is transformed. Complaints trick us into thinking that they are facts of life and that we have no choice but to accommodate ourselves to them. Queries define challenges that have solutions.
Before we begin the task of brainstorming those solutions, we have another group reading. This time, as we voice our questions, the atmosphere in the room lightens. People sit up straighter. Their body posture is more open. Hope becomes a tangible presence.
Solutions to situations that seemed hopeless ten minutes before suddenly present themselves. The parent whose children interrupt decides to try instituting a system of rewards for good behavior. If that doesn’t work, then Plan B will be to find a writing buddy with children and trade babysitting for a few hours a week. The writer with the failing computer can take it to a repair shop for an estimate. If the problems can’t be fixed, he can begin doing some comparison shopping.
I'm convinced that complaints are negative spells that freeze us into hopeless immobility. Hopeless immobility is just a synonym for writers' block. Questions imply an openness to answers and they thaw our resistance to writing so that we can once again move forward.
Try making a list of the circumstances in your life that stop you from writing. When you’ve finished, do a five-minute free write on each item. Allow yourself to vent the mental moaning and whining that has become the soundtrack to your writing life. Check in on how all these complaints cause you to feel.
Now turn each complaint into a question. Do a timed free write for each question. During your free-write, jot down all the solutions that come to mind. Turn off your internal censor. Your job isn’t to judge; it's to brainstorm as many solutions as you can.
Begin with one item from your list. Choose a solution you can start putting into practice today. Go do it.