The Writer's Worst Enemy: Procrastination

It’s not yet ten a.m., and so far this morning I have:

1. Done a quick read-through of newspapers that backed up while I was out of town, although I got back five days ago. (I can’t stand to recycle them without opening them.) I didn’t skip Dear Abby.

2. Finished the book a friend lent me so I can give it back to her.

3. Glanced through the headlines of several on-line news sources. (I don’t trust just one source.)

4. Clicked on a link to the Facebook page of Pedals, a handicapped wild bear who walks on his hind legs. Some people want to put him in a wildlife sanctuary. Others say he’s doing just fine on his own.

5. Started the dishwasher, which no one started last night.

6. Made lunches for family members before they rush out the door.

7. Drove my daughter—who didn’t rush fast enough—to school.

8. Spent a few minutes hobnobbing in the kitchen with my son about his date the night before.

9. Checked email. A writer friend has sent a draft of his book jacket blurb. I read it.

10. Had a discussion with my son on race relations in America. Also discussed with him, in heated terms, the upcoming election,

11. Reminded him to register to vote. Did a Google search to find out how to do so online.

12. Worked on “Spring” by Debussy on the piano while he was registering.

13. Unfurled the plastic floor-protection mat that came in the mail yesterday, and weight its corners with books. Until it can be persuaded to lie flat, the office chair will continue to mar the hardwood floor that my husband refinished using a hand-held sander.

14. Thought about starting a blog post entitled Procrastination.

That’s how my day has begun. Still on the agenda:

1. Make an appointment with the Department of Motor Vehicles.

2. Make an appointment for a long-overdue hair cut.

3. Send out an email to fellow Cub Scout leaders summarizing our last committee meeting.

4. Find someone to teach my church class while I’m next out of town.

5. Call my daughter’s trumpet teacher to schedule a lesson.

6. Comment on the book jacket blurb for my writer-friend.

7. Mow the lawn.

8. Call a beloved elderly friend in Connecticut who left a message while I was gone last week.

9. Return a call to a friend who left a message two days ago.

10. Call a friend to schedule a swim together and discuss the book she lent me.

11. Call a dear poet friend in Cape Cod whom I haven’t talked to in months.

12. Call my mom to see if I left my tablet charger and make-up bag at her house.

13. Fix dinner.

14. Go to a Brazilian guitar concert with my husband.

15. Write a novel.

As you can see, I come by the topic of today’s post honestly. Endless are the reasons and opportunities to avoid writing. Yet if someone should ask me what I most want to accomplish this year, I would say, Finish my novel. So what’s up? Why the disconnect between what I most want to do and what I actually get done?

Think about your own life. Make lists, as I just did, of how you spend your time. You may come to realize the same thing I have: procrastination is primarily about having too much to do. Yet even as I write this, I find myself resisting the idea of cutting anything out of those lists. Would I give up talking with my son? Helping him become a responsible citizen? Serving my family in small ways? Serving in my various communities? Maintaining relationships? Maintaining a livable home? Maintaining myself? (Note that exercise isn’t even on the list above, because I substituted mow the lawn for a trip to the gym.)

In addition to reigning in obligations, I struggle with the feeling that writing is somehow a selfish activity. If that is the case, how can I demand of myself or of others the space to write? Writing takes silence, aloneness, persistence and—most of all—time. Yet another part of me insists that writing is, after all, another form of service. How impoverished my life would be without the books of Anne Patchett, Ursula LeGuin, Jane Austin, Ursula Hegi, Mark Twain, Anthony Doerr, JRR Tolkien, Julia Glass, and literally hundreds of other writers! What they have done for me, I want to do for others. So I tell myself over and over that writing is not a selfish or self-centered activity. No! Writing is a reaching out, a drawing together, of the human family.

Nevertheless, something has to give, if there is ever to be time to write.

Some writers find that it works to get up early or go to bed late in order to carve out the hours for their craft. My vows to do likewise soon fade after insomnia makes it brutally hard to respond to the five a.m. alarm, and impossible to stay awake at the keyboard if I do.

Other writers set aside a certain time of year to dedicate themselves to their art—maybe the summer, or a writing retreat during a winter vacation. But for me, such opportunities for total dedication are hard to find, and harder to maintain.

We writers live in the real world, with real jobs, real families, and real demands on our attention. What we call procrastination might actually be exhaustion and overscheduling. So as we consider how much we really want to write, we have to think in terms of sacrifice. What are we willing to sacrifice in order to write?

In my case, I can postpone reading newspapers, books, email and Facebook until I have fulfilled my writing obligation for the day. I can likewise put off editing, housework, yardwork, phone calls, piano practice, community service, errands and exercise until the writing is done. In other words, I can combat procrastination with . . . . procrastination!

Maybe the answer is as simple as that. Do the writing first. Unless a son needs to register to vote, or a daughter needs to get to school.