I’ve been lying to myself.
We all tell lies, little stories, versions of the truth that comfort us somehow.
We justify our behaviour. Tell ourselves we don’t care about something because we’re afraid of losing it. Tell ourselves we’re more important/prettier/better than someone else, because we know we’re not.
Me? I’ve been lying to myself about not having the time to write.
The little story I’ve been telling myself is that there are two sides to me:
- Writer Anna, a creative daydreamer who loves stories and romance
- Work Anna, an efficient, no-nonsense print production manager
In the last few years, my job has grown rapidly. The more success I have, the more responsibility I’m given.
Yet this eats into my mental energy. By the time I step out of the office, my brain has turned to mush. I’m drained; I cannot face writing.
That’s why I haven’t been writing, I tell myself. No time, no energy. There’s nothing I can do about it.
That simply isn’t true.
I see authors on twitter juggling jobs, kids, partners, friends and writing without batting an eye. If they’ve found a solution, why can’t I strike that balance?
The truth is, “it’s a scheduling conflict” is a far more comforting story than “I’m lazy and/or lack motivation”. (Ironic, really, given that my day job is all about workflow management…)
Yes, work is tiring, and I need to pay the bills, and I need a social life… but it’s a lie to say that I’m doing everything I can.
Ultimately I have two options:
Keep lying to myself, and pretend there is nothing I can do to change the status quo.
Or admit that however I ended up in this creative rut, this dry spell of blank pages, it’s my responsibility to find a solution — because no one else will.
Now, let me get those schedules out…