Procrastination: The Long-Lost Virture
Never expected to read that, did you?
Alice W. Flaherty writes in The Midnight Disease: The Drive to Write, Writer’s Block and the Creative Brain, “Procrastination has a long evolutionary history—even pigeons do it.” (page 117) She goes on to explain that the Ancient Egyptians used two hieroglyphs to represent the concept. The first one conveyed “harmful laziness” in getting needed work completed. The other signified “avoiding unnecessary work and impulsive effort” as a good thing. To procrastinate meant possessing the wisdom to know when to conserve physical energy.
Jungian psychologist James Hillman held that procrastination revealed the soul patiently waiting, saving energy for the real work, the true task to surface. This idea carries a lot of relief for writers, we who are forever trying to carve away all the unneeded words to get to our truths. In some regard procrastination may be our Muses’ way of saying we’ve taken a wrong turn in the work. What is the point in continuing with the unnecessary, impulsive, and untrue? The Muses wait for us to find the correct path.
Procrastination is, like every other aspect of writing, a process. This is why writers need so many naps. The process may look as though nothing is getting done, but within? Our enculturated feelings about productivity are throwing rotten vegetables at the Puritan-built stocks in which we’ve placed our creative selves. We feel guilty. We feel failed. If we’re writing to a deadline, we feel stressed. But we weren’t loitering or being lazy. We were waiting for the next right step to present itself.
When I attempt to carry out an artificial “time management” technique, procrastination hits fast. The truth is I’ve not a clue how many words or pages I will write by the end of the day.
In Through the Looking Glass and What Alice Found There, Carroll creates a scene in which Alice, trying to reach a hill in the Garden of Talking Flowers, finds she can only get there by walking away from where she wants to go. I remember this every time I foolishly draw up writing schedules or establish goals of page or word counts. It’s foolish because I’m not working with what I know to be my process.
When I attempt to carry out an artificial “time management” technique, procrastination hits fast. The truth is I’ve not a clue how many words or pages I will write by the end of the day. Not every day will include writing on the page. Some days are spent running scenarios in my mind. The writing can abate for a while and then come roaring back. I’ve surrendered to the reality that I have no more control over my creativity than I have on when and how I dream. But that’s me. Any other writer’s experience is valid. If it works for you, it’s right.
Charlie Smith, in his poem “One Possible Meaning”, offers a luminous truth: “We crave affection but give only advice.” My response to hearing writers worry over their procrastination is to give them a hug and a quilt with instructions to take another nap. When procrastination arises—and it will—the only response I can recommend is don’t panic. Be kind to yourself. Be patient. The writing will return and, with it, bring back marvelous stories. Those will be worth the wait.
Writing Exercise
Write a scene where the main character (or non-fiction person) is in the throes of procrastination. Under what conditions did they stop creating? Follow their process both in action and in thought as the procrastination lingers. Write under what conditions it relents. What exactly brings them out of it and back to their creative work? Now, write your own experience of procrastination, from onset through how you handle it. If you are currently facing a procrastinating period, write your instincts on what you need to happen before you are able to return to your work. Do you see any differences in your creative response and your actual response? What does that tell you?