I spent at least half an hour, this afternoon, not knowing what to write for today’s blogpost. Time and again, what came to mind seemed self-indulgent (yes, even for a blogpost) or lacked substance. I coulda skipped the blogpost, waiting until next week or whenever inspiration finally struck. But I’m a writer, and am working on becoming a professional one. Waiting to inspired before I write is an indulgence I can’t afford. And I know from experience how often inspiration follows initiation. Professional writers simply clock-in and get to work, period. No ifs, no ands, no buts, no whining.
This kinda segues into whether one is supposed to write everyday. Well, the incredibly overwhelming majority of writers whom I know about do some sort of writing, each day. It’s like any other desired habit, it’s persistently attended to and done—even when it’s difficult, even when you don’t wanna. I know my own writing benefits when I make it a daily thing. To be sure, there are exceptions. Jane Hirshfield and (possibly) Kent Haruf come to mind. And when I’m consistently producing work anywhere near the caliber of Haruf’s and Hirshfield’s, I might reconsider.
But until then, it’s to be an every day thing.