101 ways to procrastinate

Why is it so difficult to write? To actually sit down and craft a simple 800-word piece that you could publish and be proud of? I should know the answer to this, I teach writing as a career and have written all my life. Journalism bought me my house and introduced me to my husband which led to my family.  

It’s not that I can’t write at all, I have been labouring over a novel for the last two years and am now tackling the second draft. But I did it with a friend – we wrote a chapter of our respective tomes every month, then sent them to each other on deadline, which we never missed. I could do that ok, I even enjoyed it.

But trying to re-visit the role of freelance writer, producing features and seeing them in print, seems as daunting as attempting to learn to Code (I know it’s useful, but it’s never going to happen).

It’s not that I don’t have encouragement, I belong to a writing group that meets online for an hour, twice a week to share our struggles and seek inspiration.

And as a lecturer at a university and for journalism training organisations I exude enthusiasm and confidence as I guide would-be writers on producing ideas and the perfect pitch, assuring them it’s possible and easy once you get going. 

I just can’t get going myself.

But procrastination can be productive. I can find 101 reasons not to write. Did you know that reality shows Love is Blind and Love Island are actually quite good? But if you start to watch them you must keep up with developments which means leaving your desk at regular intervals (they are all on catch-up).

I could never be described as house proud and my cooking skills are slender, yet my ironing is immaculate – it calls to me as I sit at my desk facing a blank screen. This week I made raspberry jam - I had to go and pick the raspberries from a neighbour’s garden (she is keen to share) look up and compare recipes in my myriad of rarely used cookbooks, boil it for ages (never been very good at following said recipes), pot it, then re-pot it when it  failed to set and had to be boiled all over again. It took ages, while my blank screen sat beckoning to me. And yesterday I sorted through several shelves of old papers and cuttings – the very things I had torn out of newspapers and magazine for inspiration, some ten years old, and I now have a set of very neatly-ordered, pared-down box files.

I used to have to be inspired every week - I wrote a national newspaper opinion column and my features regularly appeared across a range of publications. I pitched and was offered commissions on subjects I sometimes knew little about that required research and thought. Then I fell into running a journalism course and lecturing for a decade and so writing fell by the wayside, apart from the odd travel feature (freebie trips attached).

The advice I give my students and online masterclass attendees includes milking your family, friends and contacts for ideas, reading a wide range of publications, scouring the internet and social media, and utilising your own life and passions for inspiration. Yet my own well seems dry.

Part of it may be confidence, I did pitch an idea to a national newspaper last year. They seemed keen at first and I felt that familiar lift that affirmation and the prospect of seeing your name in print gives you. But then they went quiet, a scenario familiar to most freelances, and instead of pursuing it or re-pitching it elsewhere (another piece of my own advice) I slunk back to Love Island (she ditched him for a beefier hunk btw, keep up).

Maybe it’s laziness. I’m actually getting a little weary writing this. Yet I can find the time and energy to look after my son’s tots twice a week, see my elderly mum, prepare lectures and write dozens of wise-arse messages in family and friends WhatsApp groups.

I sort of know the solution to my malaise, thanks to my online writing group, Heart Leap run by Suzy Walker, which often chews over this very lack of energy and application (one member just showed us some crocheting she had done to avoid writing, and she doesn’t even like crocheting): just fucking write something. As Suzy would say, vomit on the page.  Stop being so precious, perfectionist and doom-laden, and quit worrying about what’s going to happen if you write something that no-one reads.

So this is my first attempt at spewing. I’m tempted to request no comments about the vomit I have produced please, but I doubt anyone will read it. It’s taken me 15 minutes, but I have to admit it’s 15 minutes I have enjoyed. And it appears to be 800 words long.

I might even have another go sometime, if Love Is Blind can spare me.