Burning Out

I’m feeling burnt out.

It’s Sunday night and we had a big day today. Though it fortuitously included waffles for breakfast and froyo for a pseudo-lunch, it also included a hike through the Wichita Wildlife Reserve with Kim and her pup Frankie that left me pretty wrecked. Writing Monday’s blog post on a Sunday evening, I feel exhausted. And typically, that leads me to feeling some mild form of creative despair.

I’m sure you’ve been there. Raise your hands if you know what I’m talking about (don’t worry, no one can see you guys). Yeah, that’s what I thought: almost everyone in any kind of creative endeavour has. [Disclaimer: I am not spying on anyone who reads this blog. Please don’t freak out.] Sometimes it just seems like you’re running out of time, running out of ideas, running out of the spark needed to keep going. Regardless of what anyone might say, creativity is a consuming path. I’ve never calculated how much time I spend on creative endeavours in a day, but I’m guessing it’s not insubstantial. Not just working on my novel, but reading other peoples’ blogs, poetry and short fiction, mulling over timelines, characters motivations and plot options, networking, drafting and editing blog posts: it all adds up. And sometimes you can’t help but ask yourself what you have to show for it. Is it worth it?

Maybe you just need a break.

That’s something I tend to struggle with: I’m an all or nothing kind of woman, as you’d know if you read about my struggles with getting back into writing my novel after an extended break. And instead of just easing back a little, I keep pushing. Despite my fears and perhaps a smidgen of my own better judgement, I recently sent an article query to an editor for a writers magazine, and all I can think is: nothing is going to come of this. To give you some idea of what I sent – and if you’re an American, please feel free to imagine a (very mild, meaning not to the extent of Crocodile Dundee) Australian accent – it was (basically):

Hey mate, 

I’m some woman who says she’s a writer, who has no experience, credentials or real way of identifying that she actually does write (besides a small and at-times struggling blog) and would like to write for you. I think I could talk about creative rejection maybe. Thoughts? 

That roughly sums it up. What was I thinking? I don’t really know. Sometimes you just have to dive in. How does this relate to being burnt out? Well, be patient. I’m getting there.)

See, there are so many things I want to do, a state of being which I’m sure is common to many writers and other creatives. The Tom Howard/Margaret Reid Poetry Contest is open until 30 September, and I’m caught up in wondering whether or not to submit something. My poetry is okay (I think, I guess? I haven’t really had anyone validate this opinion recently), but is it worth spending more money to enter a competition that I realistically don’t have the experience or skill to win? And what about the ILY Mag theme of Surrender for this month – should I try and put something together for that? Or the Life Lessons Essay contest that Real Simple Life runs every year and I somehow feel like I just haven’t had anything interesting enough happen to me to submit anything but maybe I should anyway? And then there’s my novel, which is really stuck on a plot point at the moment (le sigh).

What do I do? 

It’s ok to get burn out. It’s ok to be unsure and disheartened and tired. It’s also okay (by which I mean a really good idea!) to read great blog posts like this, that remind you: you aren’t crazy, everyone other writer out there has been in that place and understands and you just have to keep going. Pull up a blanket, a bowl of ice cream and a good tv show. Have a break and let yourself breathe for a while without stressing about where you’re going with writing, or what your disobedient characters are going to do next, or whether you should enter the next twenty competitions that come along and decimate your bank account (the one that’s not getting any income topping it up anymore, because you don’t have a job).

Breathe. Buried underneath the stress you’ve let take over and the fear of what to do next, is what made you start. It’s still there, I promise.

Tomorrow, rediscover your love of writing.

— Ana.