How Do You Find a Way to Write with a Day Job?
The common refrain of a frustrated writer goes like this: “Gosh, I wish I could write.” / “I have a script but can’t get back to it.” / “I used to write, sorta, but I gave it up.” / “I need a creative outlet, but my day job, paying the bills, has taken over.”
And the crux of it: “How do I find the time?”
These frustrations and exclamations are warranted, because it’s damn hard.
For the last fifteen years, I’ve worked a day job in advertising; as an agency producer for six, and a Head of Sales for commercial directors for eight. From managing commercial productions, to dining and wooing clients, carving out space for my husband, personal life, family and close friends, was a relentless challenge. And sales required me to promote other artist’s aspirations, while I downplayed my own. It was a practical and manageable conflict of interest, and often fulfilling ("Don't quit your day job" is legit!), but eventually that conflict took a toll on my soul that screamed out for attention, and I could no longer ignore it.
I recently left that day job to write full time. I had previously sold the film rights to my short story to Amblin Entertainment (when Steven Spielberg says, “I love it, let’s buy it” – it kinda motivates you to take a calculated risk), but moreover, I finally launched my coaching business to help others do the same - and hopefully, do it easier.
Yet still, the question I ponder in hindsight is, how did I find the time to not only write, but actually write all that stuff? (short stories, screenplays, three books…yes, it’s exhausting).
The “How-To” articles you read will advise you to: 1. Never leave home without a journal. 2. Wake up at the crack of dawn 3. Go on a retreat. 4. Take a class. 5. Watch stuff in your genre. 6. Join a writing group.
While this advice is undoubtedly useful for some, none of it worked for me. I loathe homework or being told what to do (even more than waking up early). But moreover, those instructions felt like an external checklist; a writing diet, that I was bound to fail.
For me, it was about reaching within, past the self-doubt and into the guts of my main purpose. It took over a decade - one project at a time - to harness that writing fuel, but it doesn’t have to for you.
If you try to:
Locate the Joy. There is nothing better than immersing yourself in that delicious, warm quilt of imagination - into a world that is your own. Allow yourself to wrap that blanket around you. Fall in love with your characters, or learn to by researching real people that may resemble them, who strike a chord. By figuring out who they are, you’ll learn something unexpectedly new about yourself. The reward. Allow yourself to daydream. If something speaks repeatedly in your gut, don’t ignore it or judge it. Trust it. Eventually, you’ll become addicted to that feeling and won’t be able to live with out it.
Commit. “Just Do It,” rings true. But by “Do it”, I don’t mean “produce pages,” or devise some unrealistic schedule that telegraphs to others (and tricks you) that you aredoing it. By commit, I mean believe that you have something to say. Believe that it’s calling out to you, asking you to give it life and shape, and that ignoring it is not an option. Commit to honoring that voice, and never apologize for it. Commit to doing the actual work. Commit to a new glasses prescription that informs who you are, and how you take on your day.
Steal Time by Saying “No.” Say "No" to those festive plans. The happy hours with friends whose company you enjoy, but that doesn’t nurture your writing self, or move the needle on your story. Selectively choose the company you keep. It may seem selfish, and people will express disappointment (and the guilt will tempt you...especially if you're Jewish like me), but being in service of your overarching agenda is paramount; vigilantly protect that sacred, budding, inner self. Say ‘no’ to the mani-pedis with friends, where you’d be chatting rather than reading or thinking. Instead of planning that beach vacation with pals or partners, embark on a writing retreat with your best pal - your story, your nascent ideas. That pal will be the best travel partner you've ever had. And believe it or not, if you're direct when declining invitations (ie. “I’d really love to see you but I have to write”) you’ll find they’re cool with it. They’re not as into you as you think they are in your head.
Be a Detective With a Pen. Be curious. Crave to find out what happens. No one, yourself included, will know what’s going to transpire unless you write your way through it. You’re not going to discover what that disguised, nagging feeling inside you really means, unless you articulate it. Celebrate what you learn. And, be curious about the world around you. Ask questions. Ask people what makes them tick; how did they got from A to Z? What made them make that big life decision? You’ll be amazed at the stories (and friendships) that ensue, not to mention some good details you can “steal” (see ‘keep a journal near you’, above. Or, Pablo Picasso…”steal steal steal”).
Ask, What If? We all subconsciously wonder, when ensconced in our own existential dilemmas - what if I could be doing x? What if I made a decision that propelled me onto a different path? Follow that question. The fantasy can be the makings of a story.
Being Alone Counts. Many a time, when I’m in between projects or am unsure of which half-baked idea to tackle next, I load my backpack up with packrat articles I’ve saved, and head to a cafe to eat (and drink…not necessary, but helpful). The goal is that I allot that time to scavenger my thoughts and fertilize new ideas. Sometimes it begets a new story, even written pages (or a post like this one). But most of the time, I’m fulfilled because I’ve given myself permission to prop up my identity as a writer, and the space to think like one. Random dots and disparate ideas begin to connect.
And hey, if none of this rings true, that’s ok. Be honest with yourself. Were you the kid who said, “I want to be a concert violinist?” Or “I want to lose twenty pounds but I don’t want to start tomorrow?” Or now, older: “I want to retire to an island in the Caribbean!” But do you really? What are you going to do down there? Won’t you be lonely?
Ask yourself what your true reason is for wanting to write. And if it’s not a burning itch you must scratch, for heavens sakes, walk away. Some people (like me, often) might say you’re fortunate to be relieved of ascending that mountain.
But if you’ve been carrying that heavy pack for as long as you can remember, and are craving to unload it, then unpack it.
All you need to do is slide that thing off, and turn around. Unzip it.
You’d be amazed at what you might find inside.