The Other Writer’s Block

The thing about writing is — and I think I have already mentioned this somewhere else — that I would do it, and I know I would be good at it, if it were my profession.

I don’t have a passion, a driving urge to write. It doesn’t impose itself on me. I am not at the mercy of the muses. Writing is not my passion. Writing, or being a writer, is simply the way I imagine my life.

Right, but first you need to have a little bit of passion. Otherwise, like me, you never start. You need to have some drive. You need to have some intrinsic motivator. You need to be somewhat self-sufficient and, dare I say, disciplined if you want to get your start.

The question I ask myself these days is “how do I pretend like I’m a professional without being one yet?” And I answered my question by asking it. I pretend.

Now that I am aware of this phenomenon — this strange block that nobody talks about — perhaps I can overcome it. Rather than force myself to write passionately, I should just (pretend) to write professionally. Today is my first day at the office. I’m new to this job. I need time to learn.

I knew a woman, once, who liked musical theater. It was her passion. She joined a training program to become an actor. But six months in, she realized that this was not what she wanted. The professionalism involved with being a working actor completely changed her relationship to her passion, she told me. She didn’t want that. She wanted her passion to stay her passion and to make a living with something else.

I don’t care about passion. Someone give me a job. I will give me a job.