Heads Down

I have come to believe there is a lever that drops putting a certain law into motion when I sit down to write. The simple act of putting my butt in the chair begins a reaction, a cause and effect which are very nearly as predictable as the sunrise. The elements of resistance¹ are unleashed, sent out to destroy any hope of creative momentum – a weird pain in my leg, the dog barking at someone inside the house, a knock at the door, the anti-virus on the PC pops up to start a scan, I suddenly remember that task that needs to be added to my to-do-list². I have learned that trying to produce anything of lasting value will most assuredly set off a metaphysical blitzkrieg.

The good news is that I know what this is. I recognize it, and I am able to lasso, hold it down, identify it and label it when it happens. And there is more good news. Because of this I am also able to tell you about it. If you are doing the work, then you know too that what I am speaking of is as real as can be.

So what is the solution to this phenomenon? Adjust the blinders, put your head down, and keep going. Know that you are stronger than all these. Know that what you are doing, at that very moment, is infinitely more important³. dm

 

¹Read the “War of Art” by Steven Pressfield

²All of these happened to me one evening this month while trying to write, all within the space of about thirty minutes.

³ Seriously, read the “War of Art” by Steven Pressfield.