Writers Are Always Working, Even When We’re Not

adult bench business man garden

Well, it’s been a bit, hasn’t it?

With the writing I mean. Your WIP. More specifically, with my WIP, actually.

All I can say is that life happens, you know?

Family matters, when serious enough, must take precedence and get priority treatment, of course. Mix that in with the deadlines of the paying job, and before you know it, your WIP, well, mine anyway, has a fine layer of dust on top of it and a couple of scenes that we can barely remember, right?

Right…

So once things calm down and get back to a more manageable, routine pace, those undeniable urges to get back to your writing passion return to haunt and taunt you, making you feel guilty about the neglect, and even making you doubt yourself again. The hot writing streak has ended, and you’re left slouched in the chair trying to stay awake by thinking about everything except the details of your story in progress.

Or are you?

I found that there is a shining light at the end of this long, seemingly endless tunnel. And it’s right there in my own head.

Strangely enough, I noticed that even though it was difficult to get the time and space to sit down and get involved with the ongoing plotting and writing of my story, my brain apparently never quit working on it, even if it had to wait until it was in the subconscious mode to get to it.  I would wake up sometimes thinking about certain scenes, characters, and plotlines even though I hadn’t given it any thought on that particular day. Of course, then I tried to immediately jot something down resembling keywords in the hopes of later triggering my memory to retrieve those thoughts or risk losing them for good (See examples of this behavior here). Unfortunately, some of my hastily written notes look more like hieroglyphics than keywords, and no, my WIP has nothing to do with Egypt or the carvings and etchings that they used.

What I’m saying is, not all writing is putting letters down on paper or making tapping noises on your keyboard. We’re still working when we’re thinking. We’re still working when we’re playing out different scenarios and plotlines in our head. We’re still working when we’re sitting there silently looking out of the window into an open space. We’re not working, however, when we’re sitting there silently looking out of the window into an open space with our forehead leaning against the window attached to a smooshed, stretched face that’s stuck to the window because of the moderate amount of drool escaping our half-open mouth.

But then again, maybe we are. Subconsciously. Maybe we really are.

In that case, we writers are really working twenty-four hours a day, so if you would be so kind as to excuse me, I’m going to take a nap.

I’m exhausted.

 

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