Let me tell you about the disease that I’ve contracted: it’s nearly fatal to me, as a writer. And I’m pretty sure if I don’t lick it, it will eventually change me for the worse and I’ll be mired in profound unhappiness.
It’s caused me to almost stop writing for good. Twice this week so far.
It’s called procrastination.
It’s that sweet voice that’s lulling me to not write at all:
1.”You’ve got time, do it later.”
2. “You are superhuman, you can do it twice as fast as the next girl. Do it later.”
3. “You’re so tired, you should rest, and think on it, and when you’re less tired, you can do it. Do it later.”
And twice so far this week, I’ve turned off my computer and said, “later,” and I’ve gone on to wash dishes, start laundry, write bills, drive the kids around, cook, clean, blah, blah, blah.
And a couple of hours later, I’ve felt sick. Sick to my stomach, physically sick. I hadn’t written anything when I should have, I hadn’t honored the commitment I’d made to my colleagues in the workshop class and to my friends, and most importantly, to myself.
Here’s the thing: the only person I’m cheating, and yes, it’s cheating and lying – is me. When I don’t write, I cheat myself. When I give in to that sweet voice, the only person I poison is me.
I have good friends in the Book Writing World, and I’m so grateful to them. They have pushed me through, cajoled, wheedled, begged and threatened. They have shown me the greatest kindness, which is they are not letting me fail. They are holding me accountable, they are forcing me to remember to practice what I’ve been preaching in these posts: to keep going. To write. That’s all.
So, I am.
Devi Laskar is a founding member of the Book Writing World. She holds an MFA in creative writing from Columbia University, is a rabid Tar Heel basketball fan and will be reading some of her work on April 9 at the Sacramento Poetry Center in CA.