My 'vision' and what it taught me

Last night as I lay in that hazy place between not really awake and not quite asleep, I saw a picture of myself behind my closed eyelids. I was sitting at a computer that had been placed on a long table, much like the kind one finds covered with paper or plastic tablecloths at church potluck dinners. My fingers were on the keyboard, but at that moment I wasn't typing. Instead I was looking over my shoulder at the people behind me, rows and rows of them, many sitting so closely to me that their knees jammed into my back.

One gentleman in particular caught my attention. He was an older man, tall and thin, with just a hint of a belly, on which he rested his folded arms. He was seated near the middle of the room, his long legs stretched out before him. His head, covered with thick, white hair, was bent toward his chest, and his eyes, hooded by fuzzy gray brows, were squeezed shut. As I watched him, his body started to list. One part of me--the human me, the compassionate me--was afraid he would fall off his chair and hurt himself. The other part of me--the writer me sitting at the computer--was afraid for myself, that my writing was boring him, putting him to sleep--and so I tried to type--something, anything--to wake him up, to make him interested. To make my work--my dream of writing--relevant.

The other people in the room were younger and eager. They sat at the edge of their chairs; they clutched notebooks and pens; they periodically glanced at their watches or at the gray clock that hung high on the wall. Some of them were the owners of the knees that pressed anxiously and painfully into my back. Like the old man, these people made me feel rushed, like I needed to hurry and write something brilliant and wonderful and unlike my usual work. They were writers just waiting for me to fail so they could step in and take my chair and my computer. And my dream.

The vividness of this waking dream was the first thing I thought of when I woke up this morning. Before bed, I had been rereading Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird, and in it she talks about the things that keep us from writing--those nagging voices that whisper in our ears, trying to convince us--oftentimes successfully--that what we're doing isn't valuable or important or worth anything in the grand scheme of things. I think the people I envisioned were probably my inner critics--the old man showing me through his actions that my work is boring and the others not so gently reminding me that I, sitting and accomplishing little, am lazy and need to step aside and allow the "real" writers to work.

I find it interesting that this "vision" occurred just as I'm getting ready to embark on a new project. I don't know if it bodes well or not. But what it has shown me is that I need to stop procrastinating and start doing: start working, start writing. And I need to stop second-guessing myself. It's so easy for me to believe the voice that says that my project is stupid, that my ideas are unworkable, that writing is too hard, that all I'm doing when I sit down to write is wasting my time, and that since few people in my life seem to take my writing seriously, why should I?

The answer is this: because I want to. And no matter what the critics say--no matter if the old man falls off his chair from boredom or the eager writers continue to try to shove me aside--they can't change that simple fact.

Procrastinating my life

Procrastinating. Spinning my wheels. Standing in one place while the world passes me by. Whatever words I use to describe it, I feel ... stagnant. I feel as if I'm not doing enough to realize any of my goals and dreams. I'm finding too many reasons to quit, too many reasons to say that I can put whatever it is off until tomorrow. But what if there's no tomorrow?

I'm procrastinating about many things right now. First, my WIP. I haven't done much more than think about it these past couple of months. But last night as I was getting ready for bed, I asked myself, "Dana, what are you doing? You want to write this novel; you want to tell this story. Why aren't you doing it? What's stopping you? If you want to tell the story, you need to tell it. Stop merely thinking about it. Stop dreaming about it. Just do it. Just write."

For the first time, I really listened to what I was thinking; I finally heard myself. I can't keep thinking about this book; I need to write it. I still don't know what's holding me back on this project, but I realize that now is the time to write. Now. I can't listen to that critic in my head, the one who tells me that my idea isn't good enough. I just need to write--now. What if I don't have tomorrow?

This line of thinking extended into a couple of other things that have been bothering me. First, spirituality. I don't feel close to God anymore, not like I used to, and I feel such a need to "fix" that. I tell myself nearly every day, "Oh, I'll get back into Bible reading tomorrow" or "I'll start studying scripture again just as soon as my life gets a little less crazy." But I never do--I don't read; I don't study. I know I need to. Part of the reason I feel so aimless so much of the time--so directionless--is because I let the guilt I feel about how I live my life prevent me from nurturing my spiritual life. I miss that part of my life.

And then there's my weight. I'm not heavy--not even close. However, I do have a few extra pounds now after giving birth to two babies. I want to lose the weight, but the fact is, I'm lazy. I hate the treadmill, hate any form of exercise. And I love chocolate way too much--it's become an addiction. I feel like I have to have it or I can't get through the day--and that would be funny if it weren't the absolute truth: I can't cope with stress without chocolate. And I feel lethargic, out of shape. I need to change; I need to get healthy again. I need to stop saying that I'll do it tomorrow and start taking care of myself today.

I'm procrastinating my life. I keep putting things off for the future without knowing for certain that the future is there for me. I'm being stupid. I'm wasting time. I have to stop.

Now is the time to reach for my goals. Tomorrow may be too late.

The enemy of all writers

Procrastination.

And I'm finding it an all-too-familiar enemy with my current WIP. Maybe I'm too close to my subject. Maybe I'm spending too much time on other things when I should be focusing on my writing instead. Maybe I'm just allowing my busyness to be an excuse.

Whatever it is--a slump, a block, or something else--I haven't been working on my novel nearly as much as I should. It's time for me to get back to my online writer's group, join in on the timed sprints, and make writing this novel the priority it needs to be.

Is it weird that I want to pat myself on the back?

I am horrible about throwing things away, especially if they have sentimental value. As a result, the four of us live in a very cluttered house. I've tried many times to declutter, but I get overwhelmed by the number of boxes and piles of stuff we have, and trying to decide what to keep and what to get rid of is difficult for me. However, today I want to pat myself on the back because, although I've only been a Flybaby for four days, I've slowly been making a dent in my clutter, and I finally feel hopeful about getting this house in order. Every week we clean one zone--this week is the kitchen--and I find it so comforting to know that as I scrub my counters or clean out my refrigerator, people all over are doing the same thing. As silly as it probably sounds, I don't feel so alone anymore, and that in itself helps so much.

In addition to making headway on the cleaning, last night I made some progress with my novel. Yesterday was what Flylady calls Anti-Procrastination Day, and she advises everyone to do whatever it is that he or she has been putting off. For me, it was my novel, although I haven't been putting it off so much as I've been putting it last each day. Yesterday I actually gave it priority, and I logged into my favorite writing chat room and got some words down, so I'm really happy about that.

I'm feeling pretty good right now on the progress I've made on the house and on my writing, and I'm hoping I can keep up my enthusiasm and momentum.