This is a post about writing, and not writing, and (sometimes) doing things.
I was talking to my friend Kim McShane tonight at dinner about writing and jobs. Neither of us is particularly looking for a new day!job — we both have found pretty good positions that allow us some flexibility and also (more importantly) benefits — but the world being what it is, “job hunting” is a life-long project for most of us at some level. The problem for both of us is that we already have another job: writing.
Yet, if there is one thing all writers have in common, it is the fact that they are often not writing. There is no one single reason for that, no one cause, and I don’t have a universal solution.
What I have is a list of writing projects and art projects and, just, lots of projects. A partial list is overwhelming, and frustrating.
Then the frustration becomes its own thing, a reason not to do start anything because hell on earth, how do I do it ALL?
It’s a vortex of doing/not-doing that pulls me down every day.
Then I re-read the War of Art and understand: it’s Resistance. It’s the safety zone where nothing happens, the no-man’s-land of empty promises and lost battles.
Sitting here, I remember: this is writing. Words, typing, thinking, sharing. It is art and hackneyed and trivial and profound.
This is writing, and I’ll be damned if I ever need another job.