What Keeps Me Writing When It Would Be Easier Not To

Hey Hey everyone! How’s everyone doing? Did we survive Valentine’s Day weekend without intentionally adding to the general population? Some won't know for a good four to six weeks. So, I hope the odds are forever in your favor. (Whichever favor you have chosen for you and yours.) 

Anywho… I made it through the bleak weekend with a particular Miley Cyrus song playing in my head. You all know the one. But then that had me to the point of screaming. Why because no person that is in a relationship, whether that be new or seasoned, should have to buy themselves flowers, take themselves dancing, or write their own damn names in the fucking sand. (Sorry a little salty….) 

Honestly, I feel more like Katy Perry’s Dark Horse. after all this time: “So, you wanna play with magic? Boy, you should know what you're fallin' for. Baby, do you dare to do this? 'Cause I'm comin' at you like a dark horse.” Even though now its more like… “Uh, she's a beast, I call her Karma. She'll eat your heart out like Jeffrey Dahmer. Be careful, try not to lead her on. Shorty heart is on steroids 'cause her love is so strong.”

Which is why some days, writing feels impossible. We are either the love, making matches and giving characters a “happily ever after” we didn’t actually get. OR we are the Karma in the background, ever watching for the fuck up waiting to happen, because lets be honest its going to happen. Whether that is by design or because one of our characters has run off with scissors cutting our plot to shreds… SHREDS, I tell you.

 The words become stuck just on the tips of our fingers or the edge of a thought. The brain becomes that thick eerie fog. Life always becomes too loud, exhausting, and relentless. Every part wants to close the document, turn off the screen, and pretend the story will survive without the engine that makes it go. 

And yet, I, like so many others out there, keep writing. Keep showing up and out. And most importantly coming up with the most off the wall things no one saw coming. Which is the humor behind the tragedy.

Why do I and others do this? Because stories aren’t just entertainment. For a hell of a lot of us, they’re survival. They’re therapy, confession, and reclamation. Writing is how we make sense of the chaos, process emotions, and most importantly to me, how I remember who I am in the middle of the noise and expectation that comes with being a Mom, Author, and Wife.

Sometimes it’s discipline, obsession, or just plain ass stubbornness. But always, it’s out of necessity. Because thoughts on paper are easier to deal with than thoughts just roaming around in my head like an annoying earworm. We get to play the “choose your own adventure” game every time we sit in front of our computers, notebooks, or tablets. That is both a great power and great responsibility. 

So what keeps me going on days like today, when the gremlin is home, husband can’t find a damn thing for himself, and I need just enough time to get the laundry done? Characters who demand to be heard, even when I’m already stretched to my limits. The urge to capture a fleeting thought before it disappears. The understanding that progress doesn’t require perfection. The knowledge that showing up, even imperfectly, matters.

Writing is rarely easy. It doesn’t owe us comfort. It challenges, exposes and it only asks for one damn thing. Persistence when persistence feels impossible. 

But that’s the point. The work isn’t in the perfect sentence or the flawless paragraph. It’s in the act of continuing. The act of creating when it would be easier to quit. The act of trusting that even a few words matter. It’s also in the *chefs kiss* one liner that you came up with at 1:30am instead of sleeping. 

So, I write. Even when stopping would be easier, but let's face facts: it wouldn’t be me. So many of my friends have told me to have grace with myself when I just couldn’t get the words out. Its not like they weren’t there but shit was so jumbled up it was like I hit a wall. We all know that wall. We call it writer's block, but what it actually is the equivalent of having a flat tire. Yea, you could keep going lipping that bitch down the road, but you are also going to fuck up a rim that you might not be able to replace. The rim being the hours of work that now doesn’t feel right, and now your mad at yourself for doing that. 

I’m not here to tell people to ignore burn out. I’m not here to tell you to not give yourself grace when shit is getting thicker than quicksand. I am telling you not to give up. If this is your passion, your calling, the first fucking thing you think of when you have a spare braincell to do so. Then Baby you are supposed to be doing this. 

But here is the most important question that I can’t answer for you. What keeps you moving? What keeps you showing up for your work, yourself and your characters, even when it would be easier to walk away? Where are you carrying forward effort, even when it feels invisible?

Share in the comments, or reflect privately the act itself counts.

Be Brave, Be Bold But Always Stay Humble