Making Progress
I’ve been thinking a lot about “making progress,” in writing. I’ve been thinking about it so much that I am no longer sure what the term means. What is progress anyway? More pages? “Better” writing? Neither strike me as the right definition.
That may be because we think of our writing as something to finish as opposed to something we are growing within ourselves, a root system that, as it goes deeper within, also expands its reach without. A growing energy doesn’t stop growing if we are called away from watching for growth. Provide writing with food and water (reading and imagination), and your writing will grow as intended by its inherent sense of what it wants to be.
Our sense of progress rises from our culture’s love of completed work. We long for to-do lists with the “to-do’s” crossed out as completed. Rarely is there time to consider what we learned in the doing. There’s so much left to be done.
For women, from whom so much is expected, it can feel, at best, a selfish indulgence to list creative work among our to-do’s. That’s how we’re socialized—to be constantly erasing our presence from the world. Women who do put their lives on an equal footing with others are often considered rebellious outliers.
The truth? We don’t need to justify our priorities to anyone. If writing is something we do that stretches and restores us, that is a priority high on the list. Without that recharging our sense of self, we have nothing to give from.
“Let my life serve others first” is so welded into our framework that we rarely feel any awareness of it. A lot of women find ourselves thinking “I want to write, but there is laundry or work due Monday or simply expressing concern for others that must be seen to first.” If one has young children, many priorities are preset. Add a job to that and days disappear.
How do we justify the time we take to pursue a writing project when we often don’t have time enough for a full-night’s sleep? The advice is usually get up earlier. Sleep deprivation is already rampant.
The truth? We don’t need to justify our priorities to anyone. If writing is something we do that stretches and restores us, that is a priority high on the list. Without that recharging our sense of self, we have nothing to give from. We have more a right to our own time than the dust, the demands of ease from others, or the rational denials of our aspirations. What we need is the ability to acknowledge our rights. The task is to figure out how to give ourselves the permission and then the time to write.
We cannot finish our writing. Writing’s nature is to never feel done. When is a tree done? Trees may change in form, but they’re never finished. We do the same as writers. We need to write to give our experience of living a shape in the world. Writers who are not writing suffer as deeply as runners who are not running. Going without the restorative work you love takes a toll.
So, take what time you can reasonably manage—maybe a little more—and dedicate it to yourself. Dusting and dinners can wait—this is why we have frozen pizzas.
Your work is not only a gift to you, but a gift to the rest of us as well. Learning to believe this is as much progress as you need.
Writing Exercise
This exercise obviously requires amending when a child or otherwise needs immediate attention. This will take time: Keep an energy log for one week to note what times of day/night your energy wants to write. When your writing energy calls your most strongly, set aside ten or fifteen minutes and simply sit in your writing space. Don’t worry about getting words on paper at first. Simply sit with your writing tools. Set a timer if it helps. The point of the exercise is to set aside time for yourself in creative space, and say No to interruptions that can wait. If possible keep upping the time to see—for both you and others—that the world does not come to an end if you are unavailable for a while. Keep practicing this time-for-creativity, whether or not you write, until making time to write is a habit.