The last thing that I wanted to do this morning when I woke up was to sit down at my desk and start writing. That’s not normally how I feel. Normally, I enjoy writing. I really do. But today was one of those days when I wanted to do anything but write. I wanted to be creative, I just didn’t want to write. I wanted to make mixed CDs for friends, create a new photo collage for my apartment, figure out how to sew the shirt that I’ve been meaning to sew for … um, like two years. The creative urge was there, but writing was not what I wanted to do.
I made myself sit down and write anyway. I set a writing goal this week of fifteen pages per day on one specific project. And I’ll be damned if I was going to set a goal and not achieve it. I don’t usually make clear goals like that and I wasn’t about to sabotage the entire week by throwing in the towel today. So, I sat down. I forced myself to start typing. I told myself that it didn’t even matter if I didn’t use a single word because it was the act of meeting the writing goal that mattered.
The work was done before noon.
Not all days are that easy. Not most of those sentences are good. But I did what I had set out to do with my writing today and that means something. It means that I took my own self-imposed requirements seriously enough to accomplish them. I think that speaks directly to why I am able to manage my life as a freelancer. And I think it also speaks to the potential for future projects to go more smoothly than some of the ones in the past did.
My day isn’t exactly free now. I have other work that I’m going to do, other commitments to my writing that I have to keep. I’m putting in a full day at the desk. But if nothing else gets done, at least I met my writing goals.
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