So, here’s the deal: I have a full-time job (no surprise there—most of us do), a writing career, and an insatiable appetite for reading. If you're imagining a tightrope act where I’m swinging a photon blade while blindfolded, you’ve pretty much nailed it.
The Cozy Culprit
Reading is my escape, my education, and occasionally, my procrastination. I devour books like some people binge on Netflix. The problem? For every brilliant plot twist I absorb, there’s a story idea begging to be written, but instead, it gets buried under a pile of “must-read” novels. Instead of writing, I get lost in other people’s worlds, my stories sidelined by the seductive call of the next great book.
Books are my solace after a long day of work. They whisper sweet nothings to me, like, “Forget your manuscript, stay with us.” And I do. I stay. I linger in fantastical worlds crafted by other writers, wondering if I’ll ever contribute to this beautiful chaos of literature. Joining Substack has only intensified this, as I've discovered amazing stories that add to the reading and pull me away from my writing.
Through the years, my close friends have learned to gauge my stress levels by the number of reviews I write on Goodreads. The more stressed I am, the more books I read and the more reviews I post. It’s my literary barometer, revealing just how much I’ve been escaping into other people's stories instead of writing my own.
The Elusive Muse
Then there's writing. The mythical muse that promises creative fulfillment but demands time, effort, and a level of discipline that sometimes eludes me. Writing is hard. It’s messy. It’s staring at a blank screen and hoping the blinking cursor will magically transform into words—it rarely does (not exactly a groundbreaking revelation, I know).
Writing after a full day’s work feels like running a marathon with a hangover. My brain is fried, my eyes are strained, and my creativity feels like it’s been through a paper shredder. Yet, I push on because I must. Because there are stories clawing their way out of me, demanding to be told.
Balancing reading and writing with a full-time job is like trying to find Zen in a hurricane. Some days, I nail it. Other days, I’m more like a hamster on a wheel, running hard but getting nowhere.
I set specific times for writing, even if it’s just 30 minutes a day. It’s sacred. Non-negotiable. My books will understand, I tell myself. I flip the script: write first, read later. It’s the carrot at the end of my creative stick. “Finish that chapter, and you get to read two!”
On particularly hectic days, I scribble thoughts in a notebook or jot down ideas on my phone. Every bit counts. I’ve accepted that not every day will be productive. Some days, I’ll read more than I write, and that’s okay. Creativity is a fickle beast.
Just last night, grappling with imposter syndrome, I came across this TED Talk video from three years ago where Ethan Hawke talks about giving yourself permission to be creative. It was a permission slip I didn’t know I needed. If you haven’t seen it, do yourself a favor and watch it here.
Balancing a full-time job, a love for reading, and the pursuit of writing is no small feat. I’m still figuring it out, and if all else fails, there’s always coffee. Lots of coffee.