Monday, July 16, 2012

Ron's Column: A Writer’s Relationship With Time

The clock said it was time. Time for me to sit down at my computer, place my fingers across the keyboard and begin penning the words I’d thought about writing for hours on end.

I take a deep breath. I prepare my approach to the computer.


I've got a text a message. Yoooo, been waiting to hear from this girl. It’s about damn time. What’s good with you?

Oh wait.

What happened to that hour? Did I accomplish anything outside of charming this girl into making me a sandwich and hand delivering it to my place of residence?

Naw. I just continued the uncomfortable association my status as a writer has with procrastination. The continual fight against an amount of time that I don’t know I have.

I wake up on countless mornings regretting the time wasted doing non-writing activities when I could be penning something of substance. Add up all the hours I've thought about writing and I’d probably have two more screenplays, a novel, twelve poems and countless more blog entries to my name.

Don’t get me wrong. I do put in work. I wouldn’t be in the place I’m in now if I didn’t. But I could still do more. I could still take the time to sit down with myself, converse with my clock and convince it to be patient with my inability to pay it the attention it deserves.

I have multiple scripts to read from friends of mine who trust my opinion. I’ve started and stopped all of them when they’ve continually finished mine in prompt fashion. I tell too many people ‘yes’ when I should be saying ‘no’, since I already have enough trouble getting done what I already am obligated to do.

It’s a troublesome relationship between a writer and time. And the saddest part is that I enjoy every minute of my creative process. I enjoy each nook and cranny of what makes a piece a piece. A script a script. A poem a poem. A blog a blog.

I even enjoyed writing those three straight sentence fragments that preceded this sentence because I’m at constant odds with the little green line that shows up on Microsoft Word.

I’m a writer. It’s what I do. 

But until my relationship with time is resolved and I convince myself to spend every free moment pursuing the avenues of greatness, I see myself marching towards with my pen held high and my ego attached, I will never reach the potential I claimed to have in my bio (that you should read by the way).

I will win this fight one day. But until then, I guess I’ll just have to eat this sandwich that this girl brought me. I know it took her some time to make it.