Tag Archives: Steven Pressfield

Pull the Plug

I wrote an email to my husband and my oldest daughter-child explaining that I need to unplug.   I sent it in an email that included a link to a video featuring Steven Pressfield and his conversation with the cult of personality, Oprah.  I did my redundant best to explain why I must unplug from social networking, from TV, from News, from the phone calls when they ask ( or I ask) “how are you?” It is the obligatory question one must ask before embarking on a litany of one’s own complaints.  I do not want to talk on the phone at all unless they have good news or important news to share.  I cannot chit-chat or commiserate. I need to unplug from guilt.  I wrote that I cannot engage in long conversations that further drain me from the ONE thing I need to do.

An excerpt: “… There is no time left for me to get anything done.  I am exhausted and cranky and sad. Period.  The ONLY thing that will lift me out of that is to finish my scripts and SELL a script or win a contest — etc. Get it? That’s it.   That’s the only thing that’s going to make me feel better.”

This morning, I checked my email — no response from either of them.  I suspect they are trying to respect my point.  I checked my Facebook, just to see if they wrote a status update or something that showed as evidence that they read my email and that it had an affect. Nothing.  I noticed that already I was not heeding my own new rule: No more Facebook.  I logged out.

I promised Jon that I would not forward one more email, inspirational website or information about filmmaking.  I acknowledged he can do his own research and he will find what matters to him.  But for me, sending out the emails is just another lie I tell myself.  The lie is that I am working.  I am not.  My lack of finished, polished, winning scripts is proof that I’ve been lying to myself.

I turned on the TV and let my youngest turn to the channel of her choice.  Right now, the three youngest are watching a cute animal show.  I am not watching.  I am writing this.  It is not art.  It is not a script, but at least it is typing some words.  I am aware, that if I am not careful, writing and posting here will be yet another method to distract from my goal.  I can’t allow it to win.

Reminding myself what I said to my dears who live too far away from me:

I wrote: “…I love you both.  But I have to get to work. YOU have to get to work, too. Don’t make me feel guilty for not “being there” for you.  It is my opinion, that I have sacrificed plenty as both a wife and a mother. Guilt on top of the fact I am still using Food stamps is just a bit too hurtful.”

I am suffering the dark effects of what happens to a person when she doesn’t get her creative work done.

My house is a mess.  My yard is a mess. My mind is a mess. My soul is weak from begging me to move from this place.

Inside and outside, everything is cluttered with meaningless piles of paper, clothes, knick-knacks, boxes and boxes of things I’ve started, notes and research.  I’ve got nothing to show for my angst except dust on my shelves, half-written scripts and wrinkles on my worried face.

I’ve got to fight my fears, my laziness.  I cannot let fear win.  Not one more day.