Today was rough. Eked out 300 words, and then the well ran dry. This is what I’ve learned over the last four days: writing every day is work. Real work—like a JOB. The kind of work where it doesn’t matter if you don’t feel good, or you had a late night, or you’re not at your best. You’ve got a story finish, young lady, get back to work!
This is a surprise because writing is the fantasy I escaped to when my real job got to be too hectic or uncreative. I wish I were writing, I’d think dreamily. Think of all the fun I could be having just sitting in one place, and letting all my characters come to life on the page.
I may have been confusing writing with reading. (Which by the way, I’m totally awesome at…is there a job where all I have to do is read? Don’t answer that. I don’t want that fantasy ruined, either.)
Okay: writing daily is a job. If I publish a story, I will expect to get paid for the work I did, right? All makes sense. So now that I’ve shaken the fantasy out of writing, the next step is to feel okay about feeling like the awkward new hire that doesn’t know how to run the copier. It’s going to take some time, and some days I’ll be better at it than others. Some days it will just be about learning the ropes, and that can be harder than anything!