Not Writing is Not an Option

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A few weeks ago, a couple of really wonderful writing opportunities crossed my path. Though I am optimistic by nature, I found myself working hard to squelch my usual optimism, fearful that getting too excited would set me up for disappointment.

I'm happy to report that optimism was, indeed, called for, and that there's reason for continued optimism as well. Needless to say, I will keep you posted.

But, in the meantime, I am cranky. As much as I love my day job, it is currently serving primarily as an obstacle to my writing time. I want to sequester myself and take the next steps on these projects, but the prime times of my days are already spoken for. And I worry that by the time I actually get time to sit down and put this all together, my enthusiasm will have waned and it will all feel like...

Work.

Which it is. Sometimes I forget that.

I shared this conundrum with a writer friend today, and she said (as she often does) that she thinks all writers feel this way and that, just maybe, that's the reason everyone doesn't write a book. Then I logged onto Facebook (yes, I see the irony) and found a discussion about this very thing.

Writing is a pursuit marked by cautious optimism. We need to be optimistic at the start of a project so we can believe in ourselves and our ideas, even as we pick them apart, doubt them and revise them. We need to exercise caution throughout the process: is this unique? is it needed? is there an audience? We need to resurrect the optimism as our enthusiasm wanes and the work grows difficult and we doubt that we know anything about anything at all.

And so we push forward, cautious optimism gently cradling our project as it is nurtured by creativity, held firm through stagnation and buffeted by life in general. We write when we feel like it and when we don't, garnering mixed results under both circumstances, slowly moving one step forward and two steps back, calling on that cautious optimism when we need tools like persistence and determination.

Writing is work, but it is work that those who write can't avoid. It overtakes us, stubbornly insisting that we share our words with the world, even if they go no further than our notebooks or our screens. When the work goes well, we are elated, but still not quite satisfied and when it goes badly, we question everything.

But still we work, pursuing ideas, shaping them, putting them on the page in what we hope is a coherent fashion, because we have no choice.

Day job or no day job, progress or no progress, we have to write. And until we can eke out the time, we plan.

And dream.