Waiting for inspiration feels like waiting for Godot.
Although my professional life is based on deadlines, I hate having a deadline for other forms of writing. I want to write because I want to, not because I have a time stamp looming over my head. I want to write when I’m drawn into something, sucked in by an idea, and excited about the words that come together. Nothing kills the joy of writing like having to force things out of me.
I am not a disciplined writer. My Man tells me that I should write 500 words a day to get into practice for that book I fantasize about writing (and he says he’ll take a 10% cut) but all of that feels so fake. Almost any writer will tell you that you need discipline, but to me, that just makes writing another science – of rules and rights and wrongs and formulas… and what’s the fun in that?
If I wanted precision I would have studied math where there is one correct answer and no question about it. BORING. I love psychology, I love words, I love love loooove all the possibilities! I love diving into something and not knowing what you’ll get… I love letting myself type and just allowing words to come out of me… as if they’re not my words, but I’m just a vessel that they spill out of.
I love the writing I can do without thinking because the words fall right after each other like notes do in a perfectly composed piece of music. And yet, here I am, having to meet a deadline… and I have no ideas, no place to start, not even a story I already have that I could expand on.
My book is so never getting done.