I’ve wanted to write more for two years now. And yet, somehow, I’m still not ready.
My process looks something like this:
Start reading an inspirational book on creativity. Big Magic, If You Want to Write, and Walking on Water are a few such books. Each paragraph nudges me to craft phrases of my own, and I decide to get serious about my writing. I am, of course, too tired, too busy, too something to start writing in the moment. My new era will start the following day.
Then the research begins. Everyone seems to swear by writing morning pages or planning their miracle morning. I consult my dear friend Google to find out more. Time passes quickly, as it often does on the internet. I know everything there is to know about the topic at hand but have yet to write anything beyond search terms.
Eventually, I get around to writing. I want something monumental to show that I am serious about writing. This often leads to the creation of a project meant to hold me accountable. It doesn’t. A post or two later, and I find myself right back in a non-writing state.
The cycle continues. A different book or article or podcast episode. A fresh creativity-boosting habit to incorporate. Another project. Another writing hiatus.
I’m stuck. The kind of stuck that’s completely self-imposed. Stuck in quicksand of internal conversations that are far from productive. Over prepared and underwhelmed.
Saying no to creativity is draining, and I’ve wasted so much energy
preparing procrastinating. This is the end of preparation and the start of saying yes and seeing what happens. No projects. No rules. Just hands on a keyboard, fingers wrapped around a pen, creating.