When does allowing oneself ‘space’ for an idea to develop become procrastination?
Yesterday I spent the day ‘writing’… well I think I did. I got up, walked to my local cafe, took care of my social networking responsibilities (yes, I do mean ‘responsibilities’… as a writer it is imperative to stay abreast of what’s happening on Facebook / twitter / LinkedIn), worked on an essay submission for an hour or so, did a bit of reading, worked on the same essay submission for another hour or so, did the Facebook / twitter etc. thing again, read a little more, browsed (in the name of research) and wrote a little more. All in all I probably only wrote 500 words or so but I was ‘working’ for a good 6 or 7 hours.
I know, the math doesn’t add up. I know. Trust me. I do. My husband comes home from work and when I tell him I’m exhausted because I’ve been ‘working’ all day, and then show him the measly 500 words (sometimes less) that I’ve extracted (yes, sometimes like teeth), he rolls his eyes. And rightly so. Here he’s been lifting bags, running up and down stairs and greeting ass holes (he works for quite an ‘up there’ hotel) all day and I’m telling him I’m exhausted? But I truly am.
What is that? What’s that draining, mind ticking over, ‘filler’ stuff that happens in between word 75 and 133? What IS that thing that requires pot after pot of tea / walks / reading to happen? What IS that quite-often-mistaken-for-indulgence/laziness process that creatives (and yes, I do mean all creatives because it’s been a running theme in conversations that I’ve had with writers, painters, printmakers and photographers alike) must experience for their photo / prose / painting / print to work? Is it just fluffing of the most professional kind, or, is it something more?
Thoughts? Anybody nutted this one out? Please, do share.
Happy pondering / plodding / piss farting around xx