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Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Whatcha Waiting For?

This guest post is from a fellow writer Pamela Fagan Hutchens at the blog Road to Joy. This is a blog where you can simply sit back, read and enjoy. Pamela's writing voice is one full of fun, creativity and writing tips along the way. Do join her as she shares her exciting tales of life. 



Do you ever find yourself staring at the proverbial blank page, whatever your blank page is?  Mine is, literally, a blank page (sometimes it is a filled page to be edited, not to add in too many confusing variables here). My blank page hasn’t gotten much attention in the last week.  I was sick with the stomach flu.  A few positive things did come out of the experience:

* My unwashed hair is shiny and bright (or is that greasy and oily?)
* I l
ost three pounds — bring on the bikini
* I was able to stay off my
injured “ultra marathoner’s” foot for four days of healing

Despite the positives, I wouldn’t recommend the experience.  I felt like a sticky larvae, cocooned in my blankets in a pupa-state of non-productivity.  I may have emerged a shiny and thinner butterfly, but I had too many days to think about everything I wasn’t getting done.

Today is the first day I have been able to sit upright with my laptop and pull myself back into life, albeit cautiously and in bursts.  I woke up excited to write but with other must-do’s weighing on me.  I was, in fact, so jazzed about writing that I dreamed of it last night — as in I dreamed the actual words while my sleeping mind wrote them, down to dialogue and a word count display in Microsoft Word (I got to 4,513).

Unfortunately, my “night mind” was working on a new book — Young Adult genre — and that is not only unhelpful to me on Going for Kona today, but also I can’t remember a bit of the darn YA book this morning to make notes on it for later inspiration. #useless

So, it took me four hours to get everything done that was on the must-do-before-I-write list, before I pulled the blank page up in front of me. And I was stumbling, struggling, bumbling, and doing anything but writing for an hour after that, until the words of a song came into my head, a song I haven’t listened to in several years: “What You Waiting For” by Gwen Stefani, from her album Love.Angel.Music.Baby. (which effectively cross-marketed her “L.A.M.B.” clothing line — there’s a lesson to be learned there, too).

Here are a few of the lyrics she wrote about leaving the safety of a successful band, No Doubt, to write and record her first solo album:

Like a cat in heat, stuck in a moving car
A scary conversation, shut my eyes, can’t find the brake
What if they say that you’re a cloner
Naturally, I’m worried if I do it alone
Who really cares, cause it’s your life
You never know, it could be great
Take a chance cause you might grow
Oh, ah, oh


What you waiting
What you waiting
What you waiting
What you waiting

What you waiting for


Tick-tock, tick-tock
Tick-tock, tick-tock

Take a chance you stupid hoe


Like an echo pedal, you’re repeating yourself
You know it all by heart
Why are you standing in one place


Other than I wouldn’t call myself a “stupid hoe” (ha), this is how I feel about moving gradually from the consulting world, and the company I started with a partner 14 years ago, to an attempt to write — my version of “going solo” — and launch a new career as a novelist.

As I stare at the blank page, I wonder why I’m standing in one place with the same words of procrastination and self-doubt echoing in my head

Pamela, what are you waiting for?

What are we all waiting for?

Tick-tock: do it now, or you may miss your chance.  Tomorrow is not a certainty — you could get the stomach flu again, or worse.  Go find your inner Harajuku girl and write, right now, even if the writing is just words to fill a page; do it, and later, make it perfect.

Ciao, friends.  I can’t wait any longer.  I have to go fill that blank page.  What are you through waiting to start?

Pamela



Pamela Fagan Hutchins writes the blog Road to Joy.  JOIN HER FOR THE RIDE as she screws up her kids, drives her husband insane, embarrasses herself in triathlon, and writes utter nonsense on everything from rednecking to floaters.

Copyright 2010 Pamela Fagan Hutchins All Rights Reserved 




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