On Days I Don't Know What to Write

There are days when I don’t know what to write. There are days when it feels like my words and ideas have dried up, leaving a parched brain and a cracked Muse.

Some have commented on my ability to churn out new content in a seemingly endless stream. Their eyes grow wide when I tell them how often I write here and of the other projects I have spinning. Many times I just shrug and smile. Most of the time I don’t feel the weight of it all.

But there are times when the well seems to run dry.

I stare at a blank page, and the emptiness mocks me. I find other things to do—anything but sit down and feel the mental drought. I wonder if there will come a day when I run out of words for good.

Then I pick up my pen—and I write. I sit at my keyboard, and I squeeze out a few paragraphs.

This is the point when I embrace the reality that this is my job. It is not a fun artsy hobby. It is work, and sometimes work feels uninspiring. We pick ourselves up by sheer self-discipline, and we do our work anyway. It may not be our best day. It may not be the most fulfilling day—but we do it. And that is enough.

I know I’m not alone here. I hope that you, as I do, typically find your work enjoyable and fulfilling. I hope you see purpose in it. But even in the best of jobs, there are days when we’d much rather stay in bed, much rather curl up on the couch and watch Netflix, much rather do anything but go to work.

We wonder how we can possibly teach another lesson or calmly manage that disruptive student. We wonder how we can sit at the same desk, running tests, sorting through data, engineering solutions. We wonder how we can deal with the same problematic employee, the rude customer, the lunchroom drama. We wonder if the string of diapers that need changing, the sticky hands that need wiped, the petty squabbles that need soothed will ever end.

But each morning, you get up. You get up…and you go to work. And that is enough.

There is something in the discipline, something in the steadfastness that works something in us. It builds strength. It exercises the muscles of our faithfulness. It calls us to dependence. It invites us to step out once more—when we feel that we have no strength—and find that God’s grace is sufficient for our routine, daily existence. And finding Him there—that is enough.
 

I Should Be Writing

I should be writing. 

Instead, I’m standing in the dim light of our basement, transferring articles of our dirty clothing from the wicker hamper to the washing machine. The smell of damp and mildew surrounds me, and I wonder at the haze of cobwebs catching the thin rays of light coming through the window. I am suddenly inspired to scrub minor stains and change the sheets. 

I should be writing. 

Instead, I’m planning our meals and making a list for the store. I’m clipping coupons and browsing through sale ads. I will save us money while still filling our house with the smell of fresh baked bread and homemade chili bubbling in my teal Le Creuset. I will have extra on hand for when others join our table, planning in advance for spontaneity. 

I should be writing. 

Instead, I’m bent over the sink, hands coated in soap suds, scrubbing the pots and pans of past meals, scraping the few leftover cornbread crumbs into the trashcan. These dishes will not wash themselves. I pile up the dripping utensils of my culinary adventures, slowly revealing the table’s wooden surface. It’s dirty. I wash it. The stove is speckled with crumbs and grease splatter. I wipe it down, gently lifting the burners and drip plates. As I rinse my cloth in the sink, I notice the drain is developing a dark film. No time like the present. 

I should be writing. Instead, I’m scrubbing the drain of my kitchen sink. 

Anne Lamott says the key to writing success is to keep your butt in the chair. Day in, day out, keep your butt in the chair and write. 

This is perhaps one of the most challenging parts of the job. To stay in the chair, to stay typing out words, whether I feel “inspired” or not, whether there are dishes in my sink or not. I can’t—and don’t—wait to sit down at my writing desk until I feel struck by an idea or moved by the Muses. I sit down every day, and I write. 

Some days it comes easy. Other days, I can barely eek out a paragraph that satisfies me. It’s on these days that I feel the incessant urge to do household chores, to do anything to flee from the cursor mocking me with its steady blinking.

The truth is, there is something powerful and strengthening in just showing up every day in obedient discipline. It works the muscles of my resolve. There is something hard won in bearing the weight of days with little creativity, with a raging inner critic, with the challenging work in what I’ve been called to. But there’s only one way to do this: butt in chair…and write.