Surviving The Gauntlet
Most times it’s not how fast you run.
As a writer (yeah, I call myself that these days) my creative process has started to adopt a strange pattern of ebbs and flows. There are days I’m on fire. Story ideas fill my brain to overflowing. I furiously capture them in a notebook for fear of forgetting them. Recently, I’ve had days when I crank out two, three, sometimes four pieces a day. Times when I’ve hammered out six to seven thousand words inside an eight hour period.
Times when “prolific” is my middle name.
Then all of a sudden, I’m staring at a blank page and the only thing tickling my synapses is the sound of crickets.
These are the times I’m traveling through the gauntlet.
The mental, self-flagellation I put myself through when I struggle with my writing is just as torturous as walking a physical gauntlet.
In olden days the Royal Navy had a rather nasty form of corporal punishment known as walking the gauntlet. An offender of a minor offense was stripped at the waist and forced to walk along a channel formed by his fellow sailors as they whipped the man with knittles — long cords of leather and rope knotted at the end.
If that’s not bad enough, the offender wasn’t allowed to make a mad dash to the end of the gauntlet. Forcing him to walk slowly, a subaltern or junior officer led the way through the gauntlet with a saber tip pointed at the offender’s chest. The woeful recipient of the beating couldn’t turn and flee in the opposite direction either because another officer was tagging along behind with a saber aimed at his back.
Can’t run back, can’t run forward, can’t run. You have to walk and take the beating and hope you make it out alive.
This pretty much describes my days when I’m ebbing instead of flowing.
Somehow, and for reasons known only to people much smarter than me, I start beating the shit out of myself when I struggle with my writing. I’m either not smart enough, not prolific enough, not talented enough or about as fake as one could possible be.
You see, dropping to your knees is never a good thing. At least while you’re moving you have a small advantage of being difficult to hit.
I don’t know how the hell it happens. I mean, it’s not like I expect it to happen, and I sure as hell don’t understand why it happens, but damn folks, it’s fucking painful. The mental, self-flagellation I put myself through when I struggle with my writing is just as torturous as walking a physical gauntlet.
I would love to dash through the shit and be done with it, but nooooooo. I know I’m going to have to take step by laborious step down the line while self-doubt and frustration wail away on my ass.
When this shit starts happening, although I can eventually see the end of the gauntlet, I’m hoping and praying to God I can take these beatings and not drop to my knees.
You see, dropping to your knees is never a good thing. At least while you’re moving you have a small advantage of being difficult to hit.
But when you lose momentum and completely stop writing, self-doubt and frustration take aim and open up. Whipping at you over and over, stripping the flesh off your back, making you bleed and scream in anguish and helplessness.
Oh it’s happened to me before.
All of us, are forced to walk the gauntlet from time to time. Hell, for some of us it’s week to week or even worse, day to day.
There was a time or two when I seriously thought about not getting back up, but I somehow did and started walking again. My self induced mental assaults didn’t lessen, but I guess I somehow became numb to the pain. I knew I was kicking the shit out of myself, but I just didn’t feel it anymore.
Instead, I focused on the end of the gauntlet and walked, all the way telling myself I need to write, I need to write, I’m going to write, I’m writing. It’s the only thing which saves me each time I’m forced to walk my gauntlet.
All of us dread getting hammered by Impostor Syndrome, or suffering feelings of inadequacy and moments of inferiority.
You can’t tell me you don’t have these same feelings because I read and follow a lot of you folks.
Yeah, that’s right. I read your stuff.
All of us are forced to walk the gauntlet from time to time. Hell, for some of us it’s week to week or even worse, day to day. And just like olden days, we can’t run away from it. Whether we like it or not, we have to suck it up, put one foot in front of another and let the world of writing continue to beat the fuck out of us until we get to the end of the gauntlet.
What does not kill us makes us stronger right?
I’ll let you know when I get the hell out of the gauntlet I’m walking through right now.
Let’s keep in touch: paul@pgbarnett.com
