Getting Unstuck
I have been so sunk under the demon named Structure these days. Fretting not working, outlining, not really working. Succumbing, not outlining. Listing most what I hate about the book. It felt like my good self divorced us—and I was left with a terrible me, all alone.
Friday, for the first time in my life I considered not writing, not finishing my book. This felt like contemplating suicide. Friday was a dark day. A very dark day. Much darker than Luke’s darkest day day which, admit it, has a great sound track, laced with whimsy and also Lorelei, unlaced.
I didn’t mean to, but all the sudden I started an essay about dating and it was so fun to list all the dates and relish the horror, loving not mocking all I feared. Because I wasn’t supposed to be writing the essay, the work fell out of me. For three whole days, I wrote the essay, always saying after each sentence, one more, then I will work on the book, I will, really.
Playing is so much better than not playing. I played my way back into you know what. Structure problems?
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I agree, playing is much better than not playing.
When I was growing up (and even when I was grown up) and people would ask me what I wanted to do and I would reply, “Play”. Then they would look at me dismayed or disapprovingly. Why would I want to waste my time playing?
I don’t see it that way. For me, playing is living. Working are the moments lost when I could have looking at the sky, or fishing with a friend (even though neither of us really like to fish), or having deep conversation over coffee and cheesecake outside under the stars.
As I like to say, “Work causes us to miss the nice things in life”.
Of course, other people don’t see it that way. The saddest comment I ever received about my not wanting to work was, “What would you do? There is only so much TV you can watch.”
Whatever you are doing is working. You look about 28 in this shot. Have fun on your bike and jogging. The writing will follow.
Pk