To be a writer is to choose the work of limiting. You focus on one thing and not another. You know the other thing is there; it’s peeking its head around the corner or out of a hole, sticking its tongue out, cocking its head, jabbering in a foreign tongue—some nonsense about a tea party?—and you feel the temptation to follow. You want to know where the other creature goes, what its story is, why it acts the way it does.
You don’t. You stay right where you are, firmly planted. Although you may want to pursue the other, you can’t, not right now. You are focusing on one thing, and it must receive your full attention before you’re free to go after something else.
This is always the choice you face: to stay focused on the one thing or to chase after another. There are times when the pursuit is warranted; the one thing turns out to be no thing at all. It has no life in it, no reason to keep banging your fist against it, asking it to open, spill its secrets. It refuses to give you admission, says you don’t have the right ticket yet, aren’t prepared.
When that happens, you chase the other thing. You know you’ll be return to the first one, but right now—right now it’s time to focus on the other, run after it, and pin it down until it tells all. It’s time to be a better writer, and you are one, so you stay focused on the one thing, be it the one you started with or the one you chased around the corner or down a hole.
Image: #L98 (Creative Commons)