I don’t want to write right now. I’m tired. I don’t have headphones with me, and today I’d like music while I write. (I’ve also been known to complain that I just want some quiet so I can get some writing done.) I also have the familiar anxiety in my chest that cranks up every time I open the computer and sit down to accomplish something.
My constant challenge is to overcome the urge to quit. Not in a big, grandiose, “I’m done with this whole writing thing” sort of way (though that no doubt comes up a lot, just not constantly), but in a “stop, just for right now.” It’s not limited to my personal writing. I’m on the bus right now as I type this, and I had to rush to get out the door this morning. In the middle of that rushing, there was a voice that told me “stop, you’ll catch the next one.”
That voice is there at damn near every moment of the day. The next time I sit down to write, that’ll be when years of starts and stops magically evaporate. [Almost stopped again just now because my computer is not at an ideal height on my lap and my wrists are uncomfortable. No, please, dry your tears, I’ll be fine.]
But I think—and here’s another theory—that that’s part of what’s given that urge to quit so much power—the lie that it’ll be the last time I quit, the last time I need to. Just take the late bus today; it’ll be the last time I have to. I know I’m not getting enough done at work today if I stop now, but starting tomorrow I’ll be so productive that I’ll be ahead of the game, not behind. And man, writing every day is the only way to get better. Perfect! Starting tomorrow I’ll never miss a day. Just need one last hurrah!
So my new theory, the one I laid out above, is that part of the reason I’m so apt to quit is that I think I’ll never have to again. Here’s my old theory, which I think it’s about time to retire: That urge to quit will go away. Other writers don’t have that. All I have to do is wait until it goes away, and then I’ll be fine forevermore.
I don’t believe it, not anymore. And believe me, this is a recent revelation. Last night, I was reading something by Jason Aaron, one of my favorite comic book writers. His stories incorporate some of the craziest and most creative ideas that I’ve come across. Just fun, off-the-wall stuff that he always manages to stick the landing for. And I thought to myself, “Man, I wish my mind was like Jason Aaron’s. Just have an awesome idea, sit down, and crank it out. I have so many great ideas, but it’s like there’s a wall between me and them.”
So that’s it folks. Jason Aaron? He can do so much because he doesn’t have to deal with what I deal with. And all I have to do to be like him? Wait for my insurmountable anxiety wall to magically evaporate.
I’m fairly certain that’s a steaming pile of bullshit. I don’t think you get that wall to go away. I think you can work to lessen it, absolutely. I think writing every day and proving to yourself that you can do this manages to diminish it a bit. But I bet it’s still there. I don’t think what separates me from much more committed writers is the presence of anxiety.
I think it’s the will and the skill to overcome it.