I love writing about overcoming. It feels like I’m having a locker room talk with myself. Not the kind Donald Trump has– the kind like this:
My family makes fun of me because I listen to things like this all the time: in the shower, while doing my hair and make-up, pretty much any time I’m not actively focused on something else. When I hold planks I play these sorts of YouTube videos. They distract me. Ever since I was young (12ish), I wanted to work harder than everyone else. Talent is a lottery. So are looks. Even brains. But anybody can work, went my thinking. I was sorely just an anybody, so I focused on the one thing I could control: work ethic.
“She works harder than any of the guys,” my coach mentioned to his friend. He thought I couldn’t hear, as I was attempting giants (see video below) on the bar next to him. The best compliments, the truest, are the ones they don’t mean for you to hear. That’s how I feel about affirmations. If you’re telling me because you want to pet me, I don’t believe you. If you’re whispering to your friend I work harder than any of the guys, I dare to believe.
And to think? Harder than the guys. The tomboy in me smiled at that thought.
Today is one of those days I don’t feel right. I’m so wrong I can’t concentrate. I want to do what I’ve committed to (write my novel), but with no extrinsic motivation like a time clock or a boss or a bar coach, I’m left to motivate myself. And today– I’m not feeling it. So I write about not feeling it because at least I’m writing. Only writers can see how much sense that makes.
I said in my resolution post that life will throw you down, that it’s our job to get up. How you do that will look different than how I do that. This is how I do that. I can’t hear my characters whisper their feelings because my own are yelling. Anne Lamott was once told, “You think everything that happens to you is interesting.” I fear that is the lot of a writer… but what writer sits down at her laptop and thinks Today I’ll write about something superbly boring… ? No one thinks that. We all think we have something interesting to say. Or at least, we dare to hope.
An invisible bar coach sits beside me and reminds me that I can still work hard at my craft. I do wonder though: what does Stephen King do on his off days? He says he writes every single day of the year. Christmas. Birthdays. Down days. Knowing what a liberal he is, I wonder if he picked himself up by his bootstraps and wrote great prose the day Donald Trump won the presidency? Or did he mope around the house? Or play motivational videos and distract himself until he felt right again? I’d love to know.