Daily writing up another blog post, a novel, or a script can be an odd way – an oddly awkward way – to spend your life.
And in my limited experience, this passage below is spot on. The writing life completely puts you out of rhythm with the rest of the world. This is probably yet another reason writers surround themselves with writers.
I think the resilience sometimes required can nearly be an act of faith, something that can, at times, become a physical obstacle that only the predestined can muster.
Writing is not always pretty, if you want to know the truth.
You can get up and go for a walk if you need to.
Wehave chosen to spend the better part of our lives in solitude, wrestling with our deepest thoughts and obsessions and concerns. We unleash the beast of memory; we peer into Pandora’s box. We do all this in the spirit of faith and exploration, with no guarantee that what we produce will be worthwhile. We don’t call in sick. We don’t take mental health days. We don’t get two weeks paid vacation, or summer Fridays, or holiday weekends. Often, we are out of step with the tempo of those around us. It can feel isolating and weird. And so, when the day turns against us, we might do well to follow the advice of the Buddhist writer Sylvia Boorstein, who talks to herself as if she’s a child she loves very much. Sweetheart, she’ll say. Darling. Honey. That’s all right. There, there. Go take a walk. Take a bath. Take a drive. Bake a cake. Nap alittle. You’ll try again tomorrow.
-Dani Shapiro, Still Writing