Cockroaches and other excuses for not writing ...

I put on my big girl panties (as the saying goes) and took care of the roach bait traps myself, and luckily after my two-day murderous spree I haven't seen anymore inside the house.

So I can no longer use actual cockroaches as my excuse for not writing.

Writing you say? Why yes, I call myself a writer and have a couple of "works in progress". I'm not one, however, to let the lack of cockroaches keep me from a million other impediments to getting the writing done.

Most of my excuses are not physical things although the cockroaches work as a pretty good metaphor for all the things that I use to keep me from writing. Most of them are mental things, my own internal critic, my desire to please EVERYONE,  my fear of pleasing NO ONE, etc., etc..

I know, I know, every one agrees if you want to be a writer you have to write for yourself, not for others, and I do, kind of,  but like the crazy people inside my head I still want others to like what I write and want to read it.

Several people have offered to read for me, but just the thought, makes me get queasy and a little sweaty palmed. In fact a very good friend said he would read what I had so far ... and he doesn't even read, ever. And while I appreciate the offers I know I need to find a way around these "bugs" that keep me from moving forward.

To that end I went back to the beginning, in a way.

I have this fantasy that I am, in an alternate universe best friends with some amazingly creative people, and top of that list is Anne Lamott. (My other fantasy best friend is Sara Bareilles, she seems like she'd be a really cool best friend). I read her books, I follow her on facebook, well actually I guess I'm stalking her. She makes me laugh, she says stuff that is actually already in my brain, she is far more spiritual than I am but she forgives me for that too, but she swears like a sailor at times and for that I love her. If you're bothered by bad language skip this quote ... okay you've been warned:

“The best way to get quiet, other than the combination of extensive therapy, Prozac, and a lobotomy, is first to notice that the station is on. KFKD [K-Fucked] is on every single morning when I sit down at my desk. So I sit for a moment and then say a small prayer--please help me get out of the way so I can write what wants to be written. Sometimes ritual quiets the racket. Try it. Any number of things may work for you--an altar, for instance, or votive candles, sage smudges, small-animal sacrifices, especially now that the Supreme Court has legalized them.” 

I went back and listened to her give a talk called "Word by Word" which was like a mini workshop she did as she toured with her book "Bird by Bird", my absolute favorite book on writing,  and life.

So I've started re-reading the book. She's making me laugh all over again and realize how much I do want to write and keep writing. I would recommend this book for anyone just trying to get themselves to DO anything, particularly anything creative where they suffer from self-doubt  and low self esteem.

“If you always dreamed of writing a novel or a memoir, and you used to love to write, and were pretty good at it, will it break your heart if it turns out you never got around to it? If you wake up one day at eighty, will you feel nonchalant that something always took precedence over a daily commitment to discovering your creative spirit?

If not--if this very thought fills you with regret--then what are you waiting for?” 

I'm back at it, kind of, when I can quiet the voices in my head and get rid of the cockroaches in my writing life.

And for some of you, okay, I'm done for today talking about writing which bores some of you to no end.