Time to Write

Back in November, I was poised at the starting line of my first NanoWriMo. Time to finish that novel I’d been chipping away at for almost two years. Then came the dreaded e-mail: there had been a confirmed case of COVID-19 at my middle daughter’s elementary school. Her class would be quarantining until ten days before winter break, which ultimately prompted the school to make the transition back to remote learning through mid-January, best case. I sat at my computer, glaring at the “Time to Write” mug I’d bought myself from the NanoWriMo swag store to commemorate the occasion. Nine months into the pandemic, I was still surprised at the myriad of ways one microscopic virus could disrupt and destroy. After three and a half minutes of mourning, I closed my laptop and got into the car to pick up my daughter. I had not written a single word.

Over the next few weeks, I did manage to make a little progress. But every time a well-intentioned fellow writer encouraged me to “Just keep writing!” I felt like screaming, “How?” Between home-schooling three girls, one of whom takes high school level math (I’d graduated with honors, surely I’d understood that stuff once?) sharing a home office with my fully remote husband, and caring for aging, isolated parents, in what fantasy world was I to find the time, space and energy for creativity? I tried to write a piece about my frustration, which was thankfully rejected as too negative. I’d bottled up all my impotent rage until it spewed out as a sarcastic mess in which I tried to argue no one should tell anyone to “Just keep writing” ever again.

Though creating anything upbeat right now feels for me like the antithesis of artistic authenticity, and I believe it is important for women to express their anger without fear of being labeled shrill or rhymes-with-witchy, it is equally important in these divisive times to channel strong emotions in respectful, productive ways. I wasn’t really mad at my critique partners, or the friends and relatives who tried to be supportive by asking about my progress; I was mad at a broken system that saw women account for 100% of jobs lost this past December. I felt powerless and struck out at the wrong people with the only weapons available to me: words. I went on to forget one of my own best rules, to write hot and edit cold. That first piece was still burning when I submitted it. Funny, I thought I’d learned that lesson as an undergraduate who liked to argue with her professors about religion, politics, you name it, but liked getting A’s more. Effective writing is not only about ideas, or feelings, but how, when and to whom those ideas and feelings are communicated. It is always relational.

I recently submitted a piece to a socio-political publication. The edits I received included phrases like, “tiptoeing around the issue” and “too nice.” In that sphere, with those readers, dark humor and provocation sells. Overall, our current culture seems obsessed with conflict. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to decide to what extent I let that shape the kind of writer, and person, I want to be.

I’ve been thinking about the proverb, “You can attract more flies with honey than with vinegar.” I learned the expression has changed to “You can attract more bees with honey” because flies aren’t, in fact, particularly attracted to honey. They prefer gross, decaying stuff. So, I can attract flies that way, with foul waste, but what are flies good for, anyway? Mainly cleaning up rot and infection. That’s great in the context of our natural eco-system, but as a writer, if I don’t produce nastiness, I won’t need flies to slurp it up. Better to have bees, the kind of readers who will be attracted to a little sweetness and use it to produce more honey.

While I’m always going to gravitate toward the banned book list over the feel-good reads and will never be tempted to write something so lukewarm it offends no one (impossible, anyway) even I am willing to admit the world could use a little more honey than vinegar right now. I don’t mean that I intend to sugar-coat things, rather that I will try to promote growth over decay. I’ll practice by telling the next person who encourages me to “Keep writing” that while that may be difficult for me to do and hear right now, I’m grateful for the little drop of intended sweetness. (I may also ask him or her to help my daughter with her math) That way, when this is all over, the time to write will still be there and so, more importantly, will my relationships.