Writing Makes Me Happy
My Plot-Twisty Day
The grating noise of a wheat mill wakes me up.
Though no pulverizing of grain is going on. It's just my husband standing over me with my sandalwood and vanilla hand lotion on his hands, rubbing them into his collection of calluses. His skin, dead cells roughing up against dead cells, is making the sounds that woke me up.
I can't fall back asleep after that even though I have been dealing with poor sleep for a few weeks (because I've been very focused on this journey of becoming a writer; good ideas keep me awake).
Life is unpredictably hilarious today.
Then, I drop my mother-in-law off to an important appointment at 9 am. More than happy to do so, especially because there is a really cool coffee store nearby. Or so I think.
When I arrive there, the lack of traffic and the factory warehouse style buildings make me suspicious. This 'coffee shop' door has plastered on it the words: "coffee bean and roasting factory." I've been duped by my negligent perusal of Apple Maps.
Ten minutes more of driving takes me to a really cool bakery. My coffee and bagel comes hot. At first bite, my mother-in-law calls me with good news. Which makes me very happy but also means that I only get one bite of my bagel. There isn't a proper place for her to wait where she is, so I feel the need to rush.
I am so excited for her with her good news that I take her shopping. I buy some cute dresses, she finds some great deals. And the hour hand on my wrist watch's face takes three and a half laps around. A long jog for both Time and for me. My stomach churns with just a bite of a plain bagel stuck to my ribs.
When I am excited or really focused, I forget to eat. I can't sleep. I forget to prioritize my basic needs.
But here's the interesting thing I realize today: I feel worse when I don't prioritize my writing than when I am hungry and sleep-deprived. When my stomach is eating itself with acid. When my eyes are red slits. When the to-dos in my bullet journal seem to be creating a traffic jam in the lines of the page.
I am more terrified of whether I will get time to write today than when I’ll get the first meal of the day in or get to catch a nap. Terrify isn’t even the right word. I feel desirous, anxious.
Writing is an appointment with myself as important as having a meeting with a celebrity crush or the president of the country.
Writing Makes me Happy
Writing, though it burns me out, makes me so happy. So content.
Maybe this is a mild version of how mothers feel when they stay up all night taking care of children. Tired, cranky, but falling more in love minute after minute. After all, the words we write are our mind-babies.
These days, with this Substack experiment of documenting my 100 days of focusing on writing, I am a constant reservoir of new ideas. I feel more aligned to the act of writing itself instead of the results it produces. Off with perfectionism!
So there are two main things that I work on everyday: 1) my novel and 2) documenting that journey here on Substack. Both go hand in hand and feed into each other.
Writing this post today has made me feel like today is a good day even though I forgot to prioritize me in so many ways.
Writing this post has me feel like I can now start a session of working on my novel even though I felt so drained before I started this post. I feel energized again as if I finished one REM cycle under the covers.
What does writing do for you? Let me know in the comments!
Trust Meter
I trust myself a lot more today as a writer because I have been able to recognize what writing does for me. Without writing, I am not my whole self.
