I wonder if you struggle with this. I’ve been carrying around a stack of pages from my novel for months now. It’s heavy. If I’m going to be totally honest, I’ve written two new pages over the past year. It’s traveled with me to Denver and back six or seven times, it’s loaded up whenever we head to NH. Nothing. And I’ve got good ideas for essays, one on my aging mother and one about our medically challenged grandson. But so far, nothing.
I’ve thought about signing up for the Writer’s Room again for a few months. Would paying for a dedicated space force me to dedicate the time? I don’t know. I seem to always have distractions. I signed up to teach this week, very last minute, but I do enjoy it, so I guess that’s fine. I have a long block the following few weeks, with nothing except a few meetings with friends. Might it happen then? So far it hasn’t, what would change?
Today I’m going through papers and filing—most of it so out of date it’s heading into the trash. That feels good, but it’s endless. I have a ton of paperwork to complete for “work.” That’s in quotes because my medical practice is all pro bono and the teaching barely pays. But both require a tremendous amount of paperwork. I’m signing up to volunteer when I’m out in Denver. Could I just let it all go and write? Probably not. Doctoring is still a big piece of who I am.
And promoting the book makes me feel like I’m moving forward. Like writing this blog. Like doing readings. But maybe I’m deluding myself. Maybe this isn’t progress.
Maybe I’m just running in place.