It’s Okay, Right? Thoughts on Not Writing Much
As I’ve spent the last couple of weeks noodling on what to write here and feeling guilty that I’ve fallen behind on the goal I set for myself to put out one essay every month on this website, I keep asking myself, “It’s okay, right?” Which also seems to just be what most people I know are asking every day as they try to balance things that bring them joy with the chaos. For me, it’s something specific and, notably, something I wrote about last year too.
What I mean is, “It’s okay that I’m not writing, right?”
As I’ve been asking myself this question it felt like I was having déjà vu. Or, like I was retelling that story I always tell. Even if you don’t know which story, you know what I’m talking about. When I went back to last year on this website, to look at what I wrote around the same time, I noticed that, in fact, I did write about this very similar feeling towards the start of May. I phrased it as thinking about when the words don’t come, but this year, I’m thinking far more about forgiving myself (though that, and guilt, were in last year’s post) and far more about what it means to have this period were writing isn’t what I’m valuing.
To begin, I think some echoes are in order. If you’d like, you can go back to last May’s essay. But if you’d prefer to not click anything, I want to echo a few things here. It is getting towards the end of the semester for me again, so I’m focused on finishing my courses instead of writing new things or revising or submitting. This tends to bring me down. Writing, as I’ve been aware for far too short a time, centers me in ways very little else does. And I’m feeling guilty that another year is about to pass and I feel like I still don’t have enough to show for it. Yet, this is constant like those tummy aches I get when I drink too much coffee (as I continue to drink too much coffee).
What isn’t echoed in last year’s post is that this year I’ve been far more gentle with myself. Honestly, I feel proud of this and I’m not sure how I’ve managed it. I think part of it is that I’m pushing 40 and have chilled out, while another part of it is this is the end of the 15th year I’ve gone through some version of this so I’ve come to expect it. Maybe I’ve gotten used to the slow pace at which I write and create.
Regardless, the most guilt and pressure I feel is in how far I have fallen behind in the work I need to do for my job. So maybe the midwestern Catholic in me could only focus on one guilt at a time? That seems unlikely but maybe age and distance from the church has made me less effective at guilting myself. One can hope.
The other thing that I think I’ve done that has created more room for me to breathe is that I’ve still been able to read a bit and I’ve been able to do brief writing activities with my students in one of my classes this semester. I think that this fills my cup just enough to get me through the weeks. Yea, I’m starving for writing time but I’m not dying of it. Bad metaphor but I’m out of practice.
The other thing that keeps me going is the time I may have on the other side of this. This summer I’m looking forward to my kid being old enough to not really want to spend every waking moment with me (words I will surely regret in two months as I beg them to go to the pool or go on a walk and they sigh so deeply it opens a gorge in the earth) and I’m trying to negotiate a schedule that allows for me to prep for the following year in a slower, intentional way which would leave more space for writing. For some reason I’m imagining that there were people laughing in the background as I typed that.
In short, I’ve been kinder to myself and more forgiving of not having the space to write as much as I’d like. That feels like a win. Still, though, the build up is there. That slow desire to work on so many things. Maybe this is what inspiration feels like?
It’s these short fallow periods when I’m writing very little, I try to reframe them as opportunities to see what is sticking with me and where my obsessions lie. There’s a story I want to put the final touches on, some nonfiction pieces I’ve been thinking about, a few different kinds of poems I’d like to play with, a longer fiction piece I think might be ready to return to and finish. It’s all been spinning spinning.
I worry, of course because I am nothing if not anxious, that I’ll suffer a bit of paralyzation and do nothing. That the summer will look like me staring at a computer screen crying for all the wrong reasons. Or that it’ll take me so long to get back into the actually swing of typing and writing and thinking that I’ll find myself on the other side of July with all the bad stuff worked out just to put everything to the side again to start full-on prepping for the new semester.
This is a future Michael problem. Today’s Michael just wants to finish this and fold his laundry. Okay, that’s not true. Really, I want to go for a walk then come back to write some poems. But, alas.
The last thing I’ve been thinking about is what these moments of no writing mean for me. I think, like I noted above, they’re a bit of that baking stage of writing but I also think they’re a reminder that I contain more than just one thing. I’m forced to do the capitalism cog, which I’m sure is what my body is protesting against, but I’m also more than a writer trying to produce. I’m trying to think and experience and live and make sense of the things around me. All these things need time. They need time to sit within my body and move around until they find a space they can fit in.
I think that what I’m most excited about, considering my lack of extreme anxiety or frustration with this year’s end of semester writing lull, is that my body and my brain are more in communication with each other than usual. It’s not perfect. Yet, it’s a hell of a lot better than times before.
So I guess a thank you to those who’ve helped me get here through therapy and reading and friendship and coworking and being amazing students and, hell, to strangers who just looked at me weird when I was acting weird. It’s taken me time, but I’ve started getting there. Here’s to an easy end to the semester and a deeper connection to myself through writing afterwards. Clink clink.
Wanted to add that I had a couple poems published in Little Engines here! I know it's on Substack and boo Substack. Little Engines is good stuff though. I hope you enjoy the poems!
Thank you so much for reading and sharing space with me. I hope your writing is going better than mine!
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