An Author's Daily Struggle

I slammed my laptop shut and shot out of the desk chair, throwing my hands into the air, “You know what? I quit!” I exclaimed to no one in particular, stomping out of my room.

“You aren’t serious,” my brain spoke up.

“Oh, I am,” I snapped back, grabbing my coat and apartment keys. “I’m done writing. That damn chapter won’t work itself out!”

“You are the author. It’s up to you to work it out. The book can’t do it on its own.”

I rolled my eyes at my own stupid thoughts as I locked up my apartment and took the elevator to the first floor. Exiting out of my apartment building, I was suddenly surrounded by people carelessly going to-and-fro, and cars speeding down the street. I joined the crowd with a huff as the cold, early winter air chilled the tip of my nose.

“Why should it be me that writes it?” I finally asked my brain. “Someone else will probably come along and do it better than me.”

“No, no, no,” my brain…clicked its tongue? How was that even possible? “We’ve talked about this. It isn’t about whether there is someone better than us, it’s about doing what we enjoy.”

“I’m not enjoying writing right now,” I admitted, entering my favorite coffee shop and getting into the lengthy line. “No, right now it’s a pain in my–”

“Then let’s talk through it? What are you struggling with in the current chapter you’re writing?”

I thought about it for a moment as I ordered my latte and sat down at a small, window-side table. My eyes were glued to the city scenery outside; people passing and snow thinly scattered on the side-walk and scrawny tree-branches.

“I’m writing a scene that requires a lot of math knowledge. I don’t have that, remember? I had to cheat to pass math class in high school.” I finally said.

“Then research it, or even better, ask for help. Your sister-in-law could help you figure out some of the harder stuff, you know, since she’s a math teacher.” my brain reminded me.

My name was called, and I snatched my drink off the counter, said thank you, and slumped back in my seat. My hands were warmed up by the cup’s hot, cardboard surface. “That’s embarrassing, though.”

“You are such a wimp,”

“Hey!”

“Okay, let’s move on. How’s your motivation right now?” my brain continued.

I took a small sip of my coffee before perching my chin on the palm of my hand. “Honestly, not the best. My family keeps asking when I’m going to publish my book, but…I don’t know. They mean well, and I love them, but I started writing as a hobby. I didn’t expect all the pressure.”

“Do you want to keep it just a hobby or start a career?”

My grip tightened around the cup, and I took another gulp, not caring that the hot liquid burned the back of my throat. “When I was told I had talent writing, I wanted to make a career. Heck, I even started doing online writing classes in my free time.”

“Yeah, I know, and you should be proud of how much progress you’ve made with those classes, despite your busy schedule.” I could almost see my brain…smiling? Again…how?

“Thanks, but the truth is…I want to keep a hobby right now. I used to have fun with my writing, but now I’m always out of ideas.”

“I see, I see, but you said you wanted to quit.”

I finished my coffee but stayed in my seat, “You clocked me right away when you said I wasn’t serious,” I chuckled. “But there are times where I want to quit. Throw my laptop and notebooks out the window and just forget I could ever write in the first place.”

“Then, why don’t you? Afterall, that’s how you feel.”

“I…don’t know,” I sighed, lounging back in my chair. “I’ve got a job that I sort of like, but I feel like it’s not me. I write to make myself feel like myself again.”

“Well, there’s the point then.”

I stood up from the table, and threw my cup away, walking out of the cafe while the employees wished me a good day. “It’s not that simple,” I said, stepping back into the cold air and starting the short walk back to my apartment.

“Okay, do tell what’s so not simple about it.”

“If I did just stop writing my book, and just left it to rot, would anyone notice?”

“I don’t know,” My brain answered. “Maybe, maybe not. Your parents would probably notice but would understand once you explained to them the pressure you’ve been feeling, but since you haven’t really published anything officially, I don’t think anyone would. Besides your friends and family, no one has met your characters and cared for them.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, not at all,” my brain answered. “If you don’t feel ready to publish anything right now then that’s fine. However, if you stop writing, you might miss an opportunity to eventually share your stories with people. Future kids who might get inspired to be a writer themselves from your books won’t. If you stop writing, then someday when you're old and gray, you might look back and say, ‘Why didn’t I take that chance?’”

My hand hesitated to twist the doorknob to my apartment. “What about my burnout? My motivation is still low.”

“Don’t treat writing like a burden. Take your time, look through prompts on websites, hydrate yourself, and get plenty of sleep. A creative mind works best when nurtured.”

“If that’s your way of telling me that you haven’t been well taken care of, I am so sorry.” I answered with a nervous laugh as I entered my room and hung up my jacket.

“I’m fine, we’re talking about you. So, let me ask you one more time: Are you serious about quitting?”

I looked about my laptop and smiled, “No,”

“What are you not going to do?”

“Rush myself; put too much pressure on myself; make myself think that the stories I want to tell are worthless.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Take care of myself; take my time; and ask for help when I’m struggling.” I sat down in my desk chair and opened up my laptop. I took a deep breath as I stared at the current unfinished chapter of my book.

“You don’t have to finish it right now,” My brain told me.

“No, no, I think I have an idea for this,” I retorted, and began typing down my idea and glancing at my notes in my notebook once in a while.

I could feel my brain prepping to give the same speech the next I decided that I wanted to quit, but for now, I was good to go.