Those Lies We Tell Ourselves

Even though I am never happier than when I am tap-tapping away at my keyboard, I will make up every excuse known to man to keep myself from sitting down to write. A very good example of this was yesterday when I opened my emails in the morning to find a message from my client containing a sample of screenplay and asking me if I could translate it from prose. Now, I am always up for a challenge. I had never attempted such a thing before, and I was keen to show my client what I could do.

• But first I had to check my facebook.
• Then I had to eat breakfast over an episode (or two or three) of Modern Family. 
• And, of course, due to family obligations I was a little behind with my proofreading job, so I had to do at least a chapter of that first. 
• Then lunch needed to be had.
• Tea.
• Email.
• More tea. 
• Then I was reminded that April's Camp NaNoWriMo is just around the corner, so of course I absolutely had to sort out my profile for that and decide what my project was going to be.
• And then I had to have a nice long bath and catch up on my reading, after which we had to go for a walk before it got dark.
• Then dinner.

I had first opened my email at ten am. It was now ten pm, and I felt thoroughly gross. This was a client who I was desperate to impress, and I knew that I could! If I just knuckled down and got on with it. Eventually I did, and we were both very pleased with my work. I just wished that I had got on with it sooner.

As I get older, I feel like I am getting better at all this. It used to be the case that I categorically wouldn't write unless it felt right and the conditions were perfect. Now, I know better. 

There is no such thing as Writers Block, or Inspiration; you will never get perfect, absolute peace; sitting in a cafe does not provide you with any more magical powers than sitting at your desk does. Being a writer is like being a magician - you have the ability to weave spells and cast allusions that makes your audience go Ooh! and Aaah! 

But the greatest tricks are those we play on ourselves, and it is only when you allow yourself to see through the mirage that the true magic of the writer can happen.