Your creative life is not made up of constant creating.
The original version of this essay includes a ton of great footnotes I couldn’t figure out how to format on my website. Click here to read it instead!
Twenty minutes on the clock and I have to write something, so here goes.
I should probably be working on one of the 59 drafts I have saved in my Substack folder, or maybe part 2 of my beach worms story. I have a lot of thoughts about that, but for whatever reason I’m not there yet.
Instead, I’m here. Here on my wife’s side of the bed, pillow on my outstretched legs and my laptop on top of the pillow. Fish snoozing pretty hard at my feet. He came up to me earlier after I finished my workout and sat really close to me. It scared me at first—that’s what he did whenever he had seizures in the past—but then I sat on the floor and he settled and I realized maybe he just wanted some extra attention. So I climbed into bed and called him up and he’s been snoozing normally ever since. I’m grateful he wanted to be close to me, and grateful he asked for what he needed.
During and after my workout, I felt so pumped (literally), like I’d be locked in for my day. But then I read a few Substack pieces and procrastinated writing my own stuff and obsessively checked Slack without actually reading any of the several messages waiting for me there. Now I feel weak and aimless. I have a long list of things to do and instead I’m sitting in bed in my pajamas still. It is 11:29am.
But then I think about Amie McNee’s recent articles about how she writes and manages her day as a full-time writer and I think maybe it’s not so bad. Maybe I am not so bad. Maybe this is just how today needs to go and soon I will shift gears and do some other things. And each of those things will add up into a day with a little bit of writing and a little bit of other stuff and it will all total a good day or a productive day or at least an okay day (which is sort of all we can hope for sometimes).
What have I done for my art lately? Well. Well. Well. Nothing, is what I want to say. But that’s not true. Just today I wrote a little fiction note and connected with Jake Varrone about his latest story and then restacked my last story, too, beach worms part 1. That’s not nothing! Plus, on the copywriting side of things, I’ve got things in the works: a new client and a new lead from my friend/colleague, Richelle. And I’ve taken on more proofreading projects, which is paying me and helping support my creative life.
I feel like I’m not doing enough for/in my creative life.
I should be writing so much more.
I am already writing every day. That’s not true. I haven’t been journaling and I basically haven’t written fiction since I posted my last story. But that’s okay—you’re writing now. Your creative life is not made up of constant creating, it ebbs and flows like all good things. Some days you will write and some days you will write less and some days you will write nothing at all, and all those days are sacred and special and important.
Taking care of my physical body is another way I invest in my creative life. Not just working out (which I’m finally back to doing regularly, at home for now) and eating enough to fuel it but also going to the doctor when I need to. And sleeping and resting and getting my steps. I’m grateful for my trans body; I want to take care of it.
Reading a ton right now, too, and that’s another way to care for my creative life. Reading other people’s words (fiction and not) gives me ideas and inspiration and motivation. I am so grateful.
Maybe after this I will check my Slack messages, respond to the ones that need responding to, then go for a walk in the cemetery before I go pick up the dry cleaning. Then come back and take a shower and my T shot and eat lunch before I sit down to do more work. That could be good. Yes. I like that. I also need to water the plants. Do that, too.
It’s gray out, it looks like it could rain any minute. That’s okay. Maybe you should go for a walk anyway. It’s not too late to turn the whole thing around. A woman with a hot pink umbrella just walked by, I saw her from the bedroom window. Maybe it’s already raining. Maybe that’s even better for me.
Funny how I thought I didn’t have anything to write when I started this last-ditch attempt to write something in 20 minutes. True, it isn’t what I thought I’d write or even what I wanted to write, but it feels necessary somehow. A reminder I can always write. I can write when I feel like it and when I don’t. I can write under any conditions. I don’t need an idea or inspiration or motivation or the perfect setting or headspace to write and write well and write honest. I just keep writing. These words add to my creative life. I’m grateful to them for that.