No one could accuse me of being particularly patient. There are times when I can exercise great patience, such as in traffic or generally, at work, but largely I am not a patient person. When I decide to make changes to my life, as I’ve recently done, I want to make them now. The long run, in this case, will result in improved financial, physical and emotional health, but I want to see those changes happen now.
I feel as though I count down the days based on the calories I consume, impatiently anticipating weight loss and better fitness. I count down the pay periods based on the bills I’m trying to pay off, impatiently expecting my credit score to climb. I impatiently count down the month based on journal-writing and meditation, waiting to feel more at peace. None of these changes comes quickly and I have to keep reminding myself I’m in this for the long haul.
My writing feels the same. I pulled a prompt just over a week ago and I impatiently wait for inspiration to arrive. I wait to hear a voice in my head guiding my fingers over the keys, crafting a story from whole cloth, creating a life on the page. Nothing is happening. A few weak voices pipe up, but nothing feels quite right. The white noise in my brain seems to be preventing any one story from busting through to completion.
Should I be patient? In the past, if I ponder and mull long enough, if I open myself to the words and the character, one voice usually rises above the rest. Sometimes it takes hours, sometimes days and in some cases, even weeks, for that clarity to come. When I force the story, it never reads right. It feels forced on the page and the voice isn’t true. So, I wait. Impatiently.
I think it’s the nature of that impatience that might be blocking me. Everything about my life right now is hurry up and wait, including this. I want to write. I have a good prompt. I need this exercise to regenerate that love, that passion, for crafting a story. This is my entry point and I want it to come now. I’m not spending enough time focused on the meaning of the prompt. Instead, I’m envisioning the end result and the progression to a new prompt. I’m anticipating feeling fully engaged with my writing again, instead of taking the time and care to think only about this one lone prompt and where it might lead me.
I also have other projects waiting in the wings, good ideas and developed plans, but I never get past the planning stage. It is one thing to have the kernel of a good idea shaping itself in my head, but unless I can get to the point where I’m crafting the stories, letting the words and the voices flow onto the page, the ideas do me no good. Pulling this prompt was my reentry into that magical world where only the voice exists, streaming from my thoughts onto my computer document, leading me down a path into an immaterial world that brings me a certain peace, a purging onto paper of all my anxieties through my characters.
If I can’t get past this block and write this one damn story, none of the rest of it will flow. So, I wait. I worry. I block myself time and again from finding completion. I let my own impatience dictate my failure. I’m not quite sure how to get beyond this other than to find some patience and let the creative juices bubble and brew. I need to stop worrying about my lack of production and just let the voice I’m meant to hear speak. I have to have faith that voice is there, waiting patiently.
Writing is a journey, not a destination. Life is the same. I would be wise to remind myself of that mantra as I try to force myself into anything I’m not ready to create. Take a deep breath and allow my thoughts their own course. The voice will rise. It always does.
daisybelle1313 