I just can't find the time

To write my mind the way I want it to read

A fact of my life is that I don’t have much time to write. I hate facts like this. I hate busyness-comparison-bingo. We all want to say, you don’t have time to write? I really really don’t have time! No, I really really really don’t! 

You have two kids? I have three! You work full-time? I work two jobs! You volunteer, too? I have this side-hustle! It’s just that I have this dog, sick parent, sick spouse, weird smell coming from my dishwasher, broken hot water heater, they just up and took out my wisdom tooth, I mean ripped it out of my head, you have no idea, also I might need a divorce.

Let me tell you what bugs me about this. But gosh, where to start?

One: It implies that if you cared enough about writing, if you wanted it badly enough, the time would practically make itself. Everyone loves to share about the times they wrote during breaks in their car, during the nap times, or on the train every day. It was that important to them. In other words, they won.

Two: It also implies that there’s a simple solution, and that simple solution is priorities. If you simply prioritized writing the way you prioritize other things, it would happen. This is the stop-buying-lattes argument applied to time. For most people I know, the amount of time wasted in a day, I mean really wasted, is negligible. It’s not the problem. Should we, because we’re writers, de-prioritize things like important relationships, maintaining steady careers, keeping our inner circles safe and healthy, or our own mental health? That’s absurd. And rest is not a waste of time, either.

Three: Not all time is equally valuable. An hour in the morning, an hour in the afternoon, and an hour in the evening are all different to different people. Where a writer can make time doesn’t necessarily tell you anything about the quality of that time to them. Writers write in different places for their best work. If you need to get somewhere and back in your hour (i.e, you have a noisy or chaotic home), the commute cuts into your time. Strange conditions might impact output. And everyone’s mind is different. Most people can’t hit the ground running when they write– brains need time to warm up. 

In short, the writers-make-time talk bugs me because it’s false. Time might be money, but time is not like money. You can’t do math with it. It defies simple addition and subtraction.

I think I need to give up. And by give up, I mean I need to throw away this system of thinking about writing. Mostly because it makes me hard on myself, and hard on other people. And I need a soft heart to write.

For me, softness comes from believing what people say about their busyness, instead of comparing them to anyone else. It comes from believing myself, too. Softness comes from letting go if someone needs to vent about how they don’t have time to write, or go on about how they’re going to make time, for real, starting now. It comes from letting myself say it again when I need to. Softness comes from making space wherever I can– mental space, physical space, schedule space. 

Softness, to me, is recognizing that life is good for writing. Writing doesn’t live in a void. I once heard Christopher Priest (author of The Prestige and many other wonderful books) say that since readers read in their everyday, normal lives– in messy rooms, and on the train, and sitting up in bed– it makes sense that writers should write in their normal everyday lives, too. Not to get points for their passion. But because writing well is also living well. It’s using all the best parts of your mind and heart and space. And the best part of the minutes that you have, when you aren’t busy living your life.

Reading Recommendations:

Mothers and Dogs by Fabio Morabito - Out May 9, this translation is really knocking my socks off. The stories are pretty short, not quite flash but short enough to read with my coffee. And the moments they portray are somehow completely unique and totally mundane, like sitting with a rather charming person from work before your shift starts and hearing the best, most heartbreaking anecdotes.

I’ve been enjoying this Substack, A Field Guide to Grief by my friend Katie Koranda. She has the ability to tie such disparate things together– poetry, photos, metaphors, and personal stories– in a way that’s really beautiful, and really sets an example for how to write and live side-by-side.

Likes by Sarah Shun-Lien Bynum - I’ve been working through this one for awhile and I’m so glad I did. The stories feel like fairy tales, strange and useful and inevitable. A great book for softness, as the ordinary and extraordinary blur in these stories in a way that is somehow exactly like life.

If you like the title, here’s the Wilco song this line is from!

I hope that however you make time for writing this spring, you can keep a soft heart! <3