Time. Ah, yes. That tricky, illusive, insubstantial thing. So necessary and so difficult to come by. In our overpacked lives, how can we create time for writing practice?
In the next few posts, I’m going to be making a number of suggestions to help with the problem of time, but I’m going to start with a very basic one: Make writing a priority.
I meet a lot of writers who feel that writing is a high priority in their lives, but don’t act like it. They remind me of neglectful parents who say they are devoted to their children, but miss their kids’ soccer games and school plays because they’re preoccupied with other stuff.
One thing I do to make sure I’m not putting writing on the back burner is to constantly remind myself that writing is the most important thing in my life. Yes, I mean that: It is the most important thing in my life.
Now, you may not feel that writing is the absolutely most important thing to you: perhaps your spouse is, or your charitable work, or your yoga practice, but if you’re reading this blog, then writing probably ranks very high in your list of priorities. Once you become aware of that—once you bring the importance of writing fully into your consciousness—creating time for it becomes easier. Ask yourself this:
Is vacuuming the living room more important than writing?
Is watching Under the Dome more important than writing?
Is cooking dinner more important than writing?
Are mowing the lawn or manicuring your nails more important than writing?
Then why are you getting those things done and not writing?
Devoted parents don’t say, “I would like to go to my daughter’s piano recital, but I really have to get the grocery shopping done.”
Devoted writers must not say, “I want to work on my novel, but . . .” They take the “but” out of that sentence and write.
Why not let the dust bunnies gather awhile, if it means working on a great story idea? Why not stick a frozen vegan pizza in the oven or call out for Chinese food, if it allows you to finish that poem? Why not write first and save the yard work for later?
Isn’t a yard full of weeds better than a never-finished novel?