Too often, I give myself permission to stop writing -- or sometimes to skip it entirely.
“I should work on my class instead.” “The sink is full of dishes.” “I’m just not feeling it. Everything I write will be worthless anyway.” “It’s been a hard day and I deserve a break.”
I wonder how it would affect my productivity if I consistently treated writing like I do my other responsibilities? After all, when I drag myself out of bed on Monday morning for work, I don’t feel like getting started, either. It’s Monday. The sink is still full of dishes and I still deserve a break. When I clock in at nine, I’m dragging my feet. But by ten, I am in the swing of things, making quick decisions, and saying to myself, “Oh, yeah – now I remember why I love my job!”
I love my job as a writer, too. I deserve to give myself time to do it well. I hereby give myself permission to leave the sink full. To get off the couch. To write a few bad paragraphs – or pages – or chapters, if that’s what it takes. To stick with it until I hit my stride. To write until it hits me – and it always does -- “Oh, yeah! I love being a writer!”