Guilt, Guilt, Guilt

Right - hands up who feels guilty because you're reading this instead of writing?

Something no one tells you about when you become a writer is that guilt becomes a big presence in your life, if not your constant companion.  OK, I know there are some writers out there who clock on at their desk at the same hour each day, reach their word target (and a little bit more, just for the fun of it), then close down their computer safe in the knowledge that they've done their writerly bit and can now while away the remaining hours eating peeled grapes from the navel of a member of the Chippendales (or whatever it is that floats their boat).  They don't feel guilty.

I am not one of those writers. 

I feel guilty almost all the time.  It's awful.  It's childish.  If I'm not writing I feel I'm bunking off school - even if I've hit my word target earlier on in the day.  Even now as I'm blogging guilt is niggling away around the edges, although blogging is part of me being a writer.  (It's legit, okay?  No, didn't work, still feeling guilty.)

A writing friend told me how she feels guilty if she sits down with a book during the day.  Yup, me too, even though reading is part of being a writer, both to stimulate one's creativity, and to keep up with the current market.  Another writer friend moans that if she were a 9-5 employee job she wouldn't feel guilty at lolling around at the weekend, yet she does - despite keeping impressive working hours during the week.

Does anyone out there not feel guilty about their writing?  And if so, how the heck do you manage it?

Guilt, the Writer's Companion

Okay, so there are some of you out there who write a couple of thousand words before getting the kids up and going to work. Proper writers start at 9, don't check their emails until they've hit their target, deal with admin in the afternoons and have time to go to the gym in the evening. Stephen King does 2000 words a day, every day, including birthdays and Christmas. Alexander McCall Smith does 3,000 between 5am and 8am.

I could go on, but the thought depresses me. I'm a guilty writer, you see. I procrastinate. I faff. I have a vague routine but constantly break it. I can't write regardless; if I'm unhappy or tired or upset, then forget it. I can be enormously productive (and on good days, gosh you should hear me crowing on Twitter) and staggeringly unproductive. I can waste hours fretting about all the hours I'm wasting.

And what I've learnt is....so what?

You write your way, I write mine. Perhaps I'm not as productive as Author X, but then I'm not writing Author X's books, I'm writing mine. Actually, I know I'm not as productive as almost every other author on the planet - well, that's how it feels - but then, I can only do what I do. I trot along in my own way, trying very hard not to compare myself with others, and at some point a book gets written. My book gets written. It may not have followed a strict regime, but it will get done. And at the end of the day, that's all that people care about - the end result, not the process.

So don't upset yourself by comparing yourself with others. Even if they have a terrific output, regular as clockwork, they're still not able to write the book you're writing. Carry on in your own way, putting in the time when and where you can. Your book, your schedule. And no guilt, please.

NEW!!! I've finally got round to organising some course dates....

How to WRITE a Novel: London 3rd May/Birmingham 7th May/

Exeter 21st May

How to SELL a Novel: London 24th May/Exeter 4th June/

Bath 3rd July Details are on my website

Guilty Secrets

From my bed I can see the sun is shining on honey Bath stone and the sky is blue. Outside, the street is bright after the rain, scattered leaves in gold and scarlet across the pavement. Sunday morning, a time for lie-ins and breakfast in bed, luxuriating at the weeks end. Except for me. I am in bed with guilt.

Guilt, my constant companion. I should be writing. I shouldn't be enjoying the beauty of the morning, I should be writing. And if I'm not writing I should be doing something to promote my writing career - Twittering, blogging, arranging readings, writing articles and short stories, developing new ideas, building the brand...The list seems endless at times. I read about other authors, the ones with organised lives, the ones who have work routines, weekly, daily, even hourly word targets, the ones who seem to know what they are doing, the ones who never feel guilty.

I should be writing. I should be busily clocking up my 1000 words a day - 2000 if I was Stephen King - and then a fully formed novel would slip off my laptop in a couple of months, followed by another, and another. I should be a little novel factory, buzzing merrily along, fingers tapping on the keyboard, clickety click. Instead, I am lying in bed feeling guilty. I should be writing, even though it is Sunday morning and the first glimpse of sunshine we've had for days.

Guilt, my enemy, my friend. Guilt makes me hit my deadlines, guilt makes me write a novel a year. I should be writing. But I'm not a factory and it's a sunny morning. I think I'll take the dog for a long country walk.