How to be a Lazy Writer

Americans are busier than ever. And everyone thinks they want to write a book. Or dreams about writing a book. Not now, but sometime in the future, when they have enough time. Ha! I mean, sure, go for it. But . . .

I think a lot of people have no idea how long is really “enough” time to write a book. Because it doesn’t really have to do with having enough hours to sit down and type things into a computer. And that’s the problem with people who want to have a direct connection between time spent on a project and the result. Writing isn’t like that.

Here are all the things that I need to do as a writer that don’t “count” as writing time, not really, because they aren’t about sitting at the keyboard and typing. These are the reasons why “real” writers only spend a few hours a day (or a week) on actually typing. It’s why writers seem lazy, and why writers have to seem lazy to be successful.

1.    Watching television, reading books, enjoying other forms of art.

2.    Doing nothing, dreaming, sleeping well, eating well, spending time with family, hiking, being alone.

3.    Engaging on-line with other writers, getting angry at the world, at politics, at the past, at the future.

4.    Reading non-fiction on topics that interest you, without ever intending to put them in books. Just because you’re curious naturally and you want to know things. Lots of things. Things that have no relationship to each other, except that they interest you.

5.    Going out to lunch with friends, laughing, crying together, processing life and love and tragedy in your head over the course of years.

6.    Writing books that never sell, not because you don’t want them to sell, but because they were experiments that didn’t work and there’s nothing wrong with that. There’s no obligation on your part as a writer to sell everything you write. It’s selfish, maybe, but some books are just for you and not for an audience. Some books are practice.

7.    Writing other things, some that you don’t get paid for—not because someone gave you a chance at “exposure” so you’re writing what a corporate entity tells you to write, but things you care about and aren’t ready to get paid to write.

8.    Writing for someone else, because it can be enormously helpful to see what works on a practical level to convince other people to do something, or to believe something.

9.    Being part of a writing group, so you have a frequent chance to read other work in the midst of creation and to talk about or just breathe in what works and what doesn’t. Or what works pretty well, and then better, and then superbly well.

10.    Doing things you hate, working with your hands, doing work that feels like it is “beneath” you, but isn’t. This work sometimes gives you space to think and sometimes just makes you feel, makes you more human because it’s work that writers have a tendency to forget about, but is a necessary part of any world and should never be forgotten in writing.

All of these are part of the reason that it’s impossible to create really great art on a deadline. Yes, the world of publishing demands that we do it anyway. Yes, great writers are often capable of gritting their teeth and making magic happen under certain practical, business constraints. But on a deep level, it is also true that great art is a miracle and it doesn’t happen when you pressure it. Sometimes, the pressure destroys the art.

My best work has always come from a place that is very personal. It has come when I was working for me, not for someone else. It has come when I stopped caring about what other people think, particularly people who have control over my paycheck. Art is for me, not for them, and it’s not controllable. It bubbles up where you don’t expect it. It happens when you have time to doodle. It’s one of the reasons that being fired or being rejected often produces something great, because you have time now to redirect yourself, and space to do something unexpected.