The Real World

So much of the work I do with students and clients is about helping them overcome procrastination. Typically, writers are instructed to just put their butts in the seat, as if forgetting how to sit down at a desk is what’s keeping them from doing this thing that, when it’s going even reasonably well, is as enjoyable an experience as they are likely to have in their day. Though maybe forgetting is largely the problem for the procrastinator. They’ve forgotten why it is they like to write, and so the blank page becomes a kind of threat, promising only failure and confusion. Why not do the laundry instead?

It isn’t always easy to remember what you enjoy so much about telling stories when you’re not. Somewhere in you lives the memory of that journey down the rabbit hole of discovery, when you lost track of time, when you stopped caring about your problems and chores and arguments, when the scenes in your mind were more real to you than the street outside your window. If asked, you could describe that pleasure, but it’s unlikely anyone would. They’re too busy dealing with same business you are, the chores and arguments and problems. That’s life, they’ll tell you.

They’re not wrong. There’s a lot to attend to in a day, just like every story will need some editing. And attending to life can be quite nice, too. It’s not all trouble and conflict. There are gardens to plant, conversations to have, dinners to enjoy. The list goes on and on – it goes on so long, really, that you might wonder why you bother trying to commune with a Muse who seems at times unwilling to answer your calls. It’s so much easier to enjoy the business of life that’s right there in front of you, that you can touch and taste and hear. Why risk the unpleasantness that comes when you feel as if you’ve run out of stories?

Even though I too can lose track of writing’s greatest pleasure, I return to the desk because I know, whether I’m willing to admit it or not, I’m more than a being that sees and hears and tastes. I’m also one who thinks and feels and dreams. All my thoughts and dreams, fears and desires, reside where only I can perceive them, in the very place where stories are told. They are, for this reason, more me than anything else. Once you’ve met your real self, you simply must rendezvous with him or her as often as you can, just as you want to come home after a long day of work in what we call the real world.

Check out Fearless Writing with Bill Kenower on YouTube or your favorite podcast app.

Everyone Has What It Takes: A Writer’s Guide to the End of Self-Doubt
You can find William at: williamkenower.com