The Lazy Procrastinator

It amazes me how some writers seem to have their whole world in their minds. They can see every detail as if they were there, they know what their characters are feeling and why. I have not been able to achieve this, I have no clue what any of my characters are thinking or why they are doing what they are doing. I’m not even sure they know what they’re doing.

I’ve started reading “A Wild Sheep Chase” by Haruki Murakami and I must say that he will probably become one of my favorite writers. I was introduced to him by him in an article he wrote for the New Yorker about how he use to spend just a few hours a night writing at 3 a.m., just after closing his jazz club that he owned at such a young age. I try to imagine this young Japanese man, crouched over a small linoleum kitchen table in the middle of the night, writing this novel for no other reason than trying to write a novel.

I often try to compare myself to other writers. Can I do what they have done or is it too late? I look at their backgrounds and compare them to mine. Do I have what it takes to be a writer? I try to grab hints that they throw out so innocuously here and there about how they write or when they write. Is there a formula, am I doing it right? I search for their answers to the perfect place to write. Where should I write? Do I need to write in a bookstore or a café?

I do not write after a tiresome day. I do not write on a schedule or have any order at all. I don’t sit crouched over a flimsy kitchen table every night and jot down my prose. Will I ever make it if I don’t?

All I do know is that every day I doubt myself and every day at some time or another, I write.