On Writing: Excuses Are Like Assholes

Okay, I really feel this needs to be said. You want to know what divides a writer from an author? Hard. Fucking. Work. Excuses are like assholes: we all have them and they all stink.

There is no such thing as a muse in the traditional Greek sense, nor is this a valid excuse to waste your time. Do you know what I think when someone says their muse is on vacation? I think...when did Kelly go on vacation? I just saw a post in her group not an hour ago!

Do you know what I think when you keep saying you don't know where to start? I think you're never going to finish that book if you don't at least try. It is just another excuse.

When you tell me you don't have the time, I think back to my ridiculous work schedule in both college and when I was a bartender. College was my most prolific writing time. It wasn't because I had the time; it was because writing for myself was more appealing than the course work.

When I worked at the bar, I was pulling 15 hour shifts Wednesday through Sunday. Did I mention I was also working on my Masters degree? I was dead on my feet more often than not, and yet I STILL managed to bang out a few short stories and chapters on existing projects. It wasn't because it was easier; it was because I WANTED it.

When I had my kid, I managed to write and publish a book despite the fact that she never slept...and therefore, I never slept. It wasn't because it was easy. It was because I FUCKING WANTED IT.

So here's the skinny, guys. How fucking bad do you want it?

You wanna know what I think when you give me these excuses? I think you're overwhelmed, unsure, and you're setting yourself up for failure by not even trying. And you know what? It's completely fucking normal; every one of us, in some way or another, has sabotaged ourself at some point. You don't want that for yourself, though, do you? Of course you dont.

So what's the trick? I mean...there isn't one. It's HARD FUCKING WORK. Every day, you MAKE yourself write one sentence, even if it sucks and you know it's going to get mucked out later. It doesn't matter. You MAKE yourself write. You put your ass in the seat, pinch off an amazing stink loaf, then sort through it later for those lingering little gems of amazeballs.

You do it every day. And you keep doing it. And you KEEP fucking doing it!

Before you know it, you have a draft ready to be edited. That's where the magic happens. All that shit you spewed on the page gets polished to a high sheen. Your book baby is born. FINALLY! GLORIOUS DAY!

...but this won't happen because you're still flashing your dirty asshole at me.

I don't want your excuses. I want you to look up and realize this is WORK and you CAN do it. I have all the faith in the world that you can.

Now go pinch a loaf on the page, you dirty wordsmith.