The Inner Defeatist
I’m worn. I have home projects to complete, work is a tad bit stressful, the new puppy throws off my routine, and we have three functions Saturday to attend. I find myself wishing for a week with nothing to do at all.
Here’s where I could say I would love a week where I could just write, with nothing else going on. Since it wouldn’t be true I’ll be honest and say I’d most likely dread the pressure of actually having huge chunks of time to write. That, however, is for another day.
Right now I feel like giving up, calling it quits, throwing in the towel. And why? Not because I have a huge structural problem with the story. Not due to a life situation that is consuming any and all free time. Not even from a fading of interest.
It’s solely a result of the inner defeatist, the voice in my head that is the opposite of the encourager for whom I long. When I look at my story notes, I see the basic plot line, the characters, and whole scenes waiting to be incorporated into the whole. Then I hear the voice start telling me that there is no way I’m going to be able to assemble that mess, to construct a decent, coherent story out of it.
Simply, it says, “That’s not going to work out.” I’ve heard it often.
So here’s my response to that petty villain lurking in my subconscious. First, I expose him here for what he is, a voice from my past that might not have had the life he wanted and vented those feelings onto others. Second, I recognize that I am tired. Twelve Step groups have the acronym H.A.L.T., which means to proceed with caution anytime I am Hungry, Angry, Lonely, or Tired. Finally, I will keep moving forward. It does not matter if I can’t see the whole story as assembled right now. I just need to take the next step.
I’m going to bed.
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Let me just speak to your desire to have a big chunk of time free of ‘work’ in which to concentrate on writing: you’re right, the pressure is huge. But I think the level of writing pressure is a constant - it’s just that writing when you don’t work, it creates a different kind of pressure than when you do have a job.
The wish for something to be different is just a part of this defeatism you’re talking about. It’s a very safe and comfortable thought that if you could just change one thing, everything about writing would fall into place. It implies that it’s the way things are that makes writing so hard - it’s out of your control - which is simultaneously cozy complacency and a jab in the heart, because it’s a message that you can’t do it with things as they are.
One guard I have against the defeatist is to write without thinking at all. If the thought to write comes into my head, I just sit down immediately (or as soon as I can gather the necessary tools), crowding out as many thoughts as I can until I get pen on paper or the right file opened. It’s a little like running the gauntlet - once I make it to the other side and actually start writing, it may be difficult, but at least I’m safe. Because, like you’ve told me before, it’s not the writing itself that is so torturous, it’s all of the thoughts and feelings and fears swirling around it.