Posted by Deborah Atherton
Recently, Leslie and I were having lunch with a good friend and colleague who has just begun to write seriously. She posed the question: Why is it that we don’t do the thing we in theory want to do the most? (For all three of us right now, it is finishing a book.) Why is it that our weekends and evenings fill up with chores, errands, TV, email, etc., etc., and suddenly it is 11 PM Sunday night and nothing has been written?
The classic answer for this, of course, is resistance (something explored really brilliantly in Stephen Pressfield’s The War of Art), but, as Leslie said a few blog posts ago, let’s for a moment resist calling it resistance. Maybe this isn’t always our inner critic at work, blocking all change and creative effort in our life; maybe this is something else. Because we all enjoy working on our books; when we set the time aside, it is almost always good time, not frustrating or self-critical time.
As we discussed the problem, we realized all three of us tended to do the same thing: we feel that we have to block out a day (or an afternoon, or a week!) to work on our projects, and that we can never find a separate block of time long enough (or quiet enough) to really stretch out and enjoy working on it. And so we postpone, and postpone, waiting for a time when we accumulate enough vacation days, or can take a break from clients and obligations for long enough, to REALLY get some work done. But what happens, of course, is that that time never comes, and our projects pull further and further away from us, until they seem to have left us entirely.
Last year, when I was facing just such a dilemma, trying to finish a novel and thinking I would have to go away somewhere to make any progress, my friend, the amazing coach Cindy at Less Drama Queens made a suggestion: can you find one hour a week to work on it? At the time, I was highly doubtful that I could get much done in an hour a week – I had a whole book to rewrite! But I had already allotted my vacation time, and I didn’t really have much choice. So, somewhat reluctantly, I tried it.
And it worked. Every Saturday morning, instead of rushing off to the dry cleaners, or picking up a few groceries, or (let’s be honest) catching up on Top Chef on the DVR, I worked on my novel. Interestingly, the hour often expanded into two, and sometimes even three, time I would have sworn I didn’t have. But there it was. And because I was obligated only to that hour, I honored it. Everybody, except maybe Hilary Rodham Clinton when the Mideast is exploding, has an hour. We just don’t think we can do anything with it: it’s only an hour.
But that hour a week worked for me: it took more than six months, but I did finish editing the book. It is a lesson that it is hard for me to remember; I still think longingly of all the work I could do if I just had about a month to go sit somewhere quiet and write. Someday, I’m sure, I’ll get that month (although whether I am able to actually sit down and write for that stretch of time is another issue!) In the meantime, I try to remind myself: just one hour a week, and eventually you can finish anything.