Recently I have become a bad writer.  I blow off deadlines, or push it till the very last minute when I am forced to hand in mediocre work.  I feel terrible about this.  And yet I keep repeating the pattern.  And it isn't just my writing habits that have changed.  I am staying up late, partying like I was twenty something instead of ahem, well let's leave that unsaid shall we? God help me, I have even started smoking again. 

I know, I know.  I can hear you all shaking your heads, and collectively tutting. Partly this is my rebellion against having to write what others pay me to, rather than what I want, but mostly I am acting out of frustration that my muse seems to have deserted me.  And something I have noticed is that I am not alone.  Rather, I have started sinking into the dreaded stereotype of a stressed writer. 

My neighbour, in typical small town fashion, has even stopped me in the hallway to express concern and ask if I am ill, having seen my drapes closed most of the day and hearing well, pretty much silence from my apartment.  Disturbingly, when confronted with his worried questions, the line "It'sok ,  I'm a writer,"  popped out.  What struck me even more than hearing this cliche uttered from my own mouth was his obvious relief.  "Ah,ok," he said, and nodded knowingly, perfectly content with my explanation.

We see the stereotypical writer all the time, in books, plays and movies.  He crops up unshaven, with a glass of Scotch (the SW's drink of choice) and red rimmed eyes and sits till the wee hours of the morning crumpling up sheets of paper containing unsatisfactory work.  And although he rarely achieves his goal of finishing his manuscript, there is something inherently seductive about him as we watch him wrestle his muse... determined, tortured to the end.  The reason, I can only guess, is not only that we identify with his struggle, but that we admire his tenacity.  While others may wonder why he doesn't just give up and apply for a job at Starbucks, writers understand that sometimes you have to walk through the storm to get to the eye.  That moment of clarity when everything falls into place... plot lines merge, characters resolve, stories conclude.

This tends to happen to most writers at some point... usually at either end of the success spectrum.  After years of hard work, you may find yourself in the fortunate position of not having to fight for work.  The assignments pile up in your inbox, clients call for more work... and suddenly the words won't come.  Or, after years of hard work,  your novel still hasn't been picked up, editors won't return your calls...and the words won't come.  The trouble is distinguishing writers block from rebellion.  It is all too easy to blame a creative disposition for a lack of work ethic. 

It can be tough to separate writing as a calling from writing as a career.  Up until a few months ago I wrote because I loved it.  I wrote when I was inspired.  I wrote when I had something to say.  I wrote when I felt compelled to spill words onto the page because I felt that they would if they would consume if I didn't get them out.  Being a writer was not what I did, but what I was.  However, since taking on more full-time and long term assignments, some of the passion has gone, and with it, my inspiration.

So how do we pick ourselves up from this bottom rung of the writing ladder?  Well, it seems that there are two choices... either pick up a glass of Scotch and hope that the storm passes quickly enough to pay rent, or give ourselves a mental shake, grit our teeth and start typing.  After all, can we really call ourselves writers if we don't write?

Have you fallen into the trap of a being stereotypical writer?