You Are Not Lazy--You Are Recharging

A writing practice isn't about getting the most done. It's about getting the most out of yourself.

Photo by Anete Lūsiņa on Unsplash

Our old dog’s been sick this week—wheezing, coughing, restless. My husband and I have been trading off, getting up in the middle of the night to comfort her, provide meds, take her out. I’m bone tired.

Deadlines don’t care. The pitch still needs to go out if I want work next month, I had a story to finish up. But here’s what I’m learning (again): not everything has to get done right now.

This week, I loved on my dog, got the essentials done, and took breaks when I could. I walked in the sunshine. Made meatballs. Scrambled eggs for the pup. I didn’t hustle—didn’t have it in me—but I was still doing the work of writing.

Writing isn’t only about putting out and producing. It’s not about depletion. It’s about creation. I’m thinking and practicing right now, not how to get more work done, but how to get the most from myself in my writing. Practicing how to live a full life. Not a busy one.

The Writer’s Mind is Always Going

The frantic, grasping, grind, juggling-17-projects-at-a-time mode I’m familiar with, isn’t sustainable. Or even all that productive. I find myself skipping around, touching things but not building any one thing into something resonant.

As writers we need practices that leave room to journal at night, write in the morning before the kids get up, and maybe meet Mom for lunch on Tuesday. We need time for noticing and experiencing and thinking and daydreaming, and tending to a sick dog. That’s the work of writing too, the living.

Last night, I quit early. Didn’t even finish this newsletter. Instead, I watched The Gardener (Netflix) with my husband. The dog pressed up against my leg. We opened the slider, and Spring blew in. I felt my body relax.

But my writer-brain buzzed.