IWSG: Heat, harvest, bone-tiredness, and other nonsense

A barren desert. Still. The sun is high and there’s no movement, with not the hint of a breeze. Gray and brown twiggy scrub feign life. There’s nothing else. No creatures, even in the shade. It’s devoid of any beauty or grace. Sterile and alien. Dry and hopeless.

And this misery can be yours! 

Yes! All you must do is…

But I get ahead of myself. This is my monthly post for IWSG: Insecure Writer’s Support Group. The suggested topic is: “What pitfalls would you warn other writers to avoid on their publication journey?”

Oh, I have an answer.

The best answer. 

The one that’s been dogging me for the past couple of months. 

Its genesis is clear. A clever devil, it pitied how hard I was toiling at the day job and bemoaned the sudden influx of freelance work I needed to handle. But it was all for a good cause, and the freelance project would help me dial back some of those responsibilities so I’d have more time. For writing. 

Then came the month of weekends harvesting fruit. Inarguable. A tree with branches burdened, hanging low with ripe fruit, will not be put off. Cutting, plucking, cleaning, pitting, bagging with just so much syrup, toting to the freezer. I’m not sure how many times that cycle was repeated. And we weren’t even able to get it all in time, before the heat was upon us with its withering embrace. 

You can see, can’t you? My tasks were true and proper and necessary. 

But I let them lull me, coax me. I listened to the voice that said, “Look how busy you are with this. This will soon be over. You don’t have time to write now, poor thing. Just wait a while longer.”

And days joined weeks and soon a few months passed. 

Now I am in that arid, sterile desert. The place writers go when they haven’t been doing what gives them life and purpose and feeds them and is as vital and basic as water. 

The answer to the question?

The primal pitfall, the mother of all, the poisonous and tempting fruit from the most devious and cunning imp, is allowing something to shunt aside the time you devote to writing.

 


Insecure Writer's Support Group #IWSGThe purpose of the Insecure Writer’s Support Group is to share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds! #IWSG

 

 

Photo by Sari Fayomie on Unsplash

2 Replies to “IWSG: Heat, harvest, bone-tiredness, and other nonsense”

  1. You know, I mentioned to my husband that I was so close to finishing my book, and that it’s taken me five years to get here. He looked at me and asked, “are you ready to become a stay-at-home mom?” I laughed because though his intentions were that I would be home, therefore I could write, he clearly hasn’t been paying attention. The only writing time I get is when I’m at work, on my lunch. I never get to write when I’m home the kids won’t allow it. The laundry won’t allow it. The backyard won’t allow it. The meal-cooking, the dishes, the dogs, the floors, the carpet… Heck, even the husband who suggested it. They all won’t allow me to write when I’m home. That’s how come it’s taken me five years, because I’ve only got about an hour a day with which to write, and only five days, at best, a week to do so.

    Good luck reclaiming your time! I wish you the best.

  2. LOL! I don’t have enough sleeping/eating time, say nothing about any of that other stuff. It’s a crazy life. Some seasons don’t lend to writing, much…and that’s okay. We just have to start again/sneak it in where we can.

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