Writing is hard.
And there are days when it seems pointless. The amount of time and energy I am spending on character, dialogue and scene setting when I could be walking the dog, who cares nothing about character, dialogue and scene setting, in the park.
Mad Men’s Don Draper stares at the sky on a rare moment off at a picnic with his family. “This is the only thing I want to be doing,” he says. At another point he states, “I want to live. Not just talk about it.”
Recently I’ve been working on the art of walking away. From writing. Allowing the frustration to simply be and to not continue grinding my gears. I do some laundry, wash the dishes, grateful for the simple responsibility of not having to think about character, dialogue and scene setting.
But I’m a writer. I got myself into this mess. Why not just drop it?
Because, as my good friend Kate, another writer, recently said, “Every time I walk away from creative writing, I’m sorry I did it.” I don’t want to be sorry. And, inadvertently, I’ll just start again anyway. That’s what happened the last time I walked away.
What’s different now?
First, I’ve been able to identify cynicism and negativity as exhaustion. Often the mornings I feel this way come after a night of interrupted or diminished sleep.
Second, I’ve learned to let go. The Buddhists speak of attachment, and there is no question that I am attached to my writing practice. So many needs are met by writing but writing can, especially when I’m tired, exhaust me and make me feel worse about the process. Letting go is my way of giving myself permission to rest and recover.
Third, walking away gives me perspective. Watching the dog, hearing my footsteps, listening to birds, reminds me that there is a whole world out there, completely removed from character, dialogue and scene setting. And sometimes, while not thinking about writing, I even come up with an idea that just might work.
As long as I simply walk away.