Ten Ways To Stop Being a Writer
Go on Instagram.
Read one-star reviews of your favorite book. Wonder how on earth people could be so cruel, so critical, so heartless. Consider your own forthcoming one-star reviews. Write a few in your head as an act of preparation. (Make a mental note to ask your husband if it is possible to block your own Amazon listing.)
Open a blank Google doc, then switch tabs to your email instead.
Watch a quick episode of Selling Sunset. Immerse yourself in the fantasy world of the LA elite—the houses, the fashion, the Botox, the pools. Text your friend who is also watching: Can you believe …? Go on Instagram and do a drive-by on every character’s profile. Google who Chrishell is dating now. Who Jason is dating now. Are Emma’s empanadas any good?
Take a break to stretch your legs. Might as well vacuum the living room floor. Might as well water the plants. Suddenly remember you haven’t checked the mail in several days. Sort through the bills and flyers and eight different credit card offers until—aha!—Real Simple Magazine. Grab a drink from the fridge and cozy up on the couch.
Decide it’s time to potty train.
Decide it’s time to declutter. (You write better in a tidy environment! It’s fine!) Start small, the junk drawer in the kitchen. Then move to the fridge. The toy basket next to the piano. The boys’ closet. Do a deep dive on Ikea.com and consider whether or not purchasing $200 worth of storage cubbies and baskets will change your life. (Probably?)
Create a “lead magnet” for your email list. Consider how you will bribe people with free! amazing! downloadable! content! Set up the 38 steps to ensure new subscribers actually receive the lead magnet. Curse your computer, and Canva, three times in the process. Consider: Anne Lamott does not have a lead magnet and does just fine. Google Anne Lamott and realize she literally does not have a website. As in, the domain www.annelamott.com is for sale. Laugh hysterically for three whole minutes.
Click on one of the 28 ads in your social media feed for hair growth serum. Look at a dozen before and after pictures, then study your own scalp in the bathroom mirror. Ask yourself, does the algorithm know something I don’t? Put bottle of serum in online shopping cart. Contemplate purchase for 24 hours. Ultimately decide you do not need it. (Yet.)
Check the weather. Sigh at the 102 degree forecast. Dream about having a pool. Open the Zillow app and do a search for nearby homes for sale. Filter: must have pool. Send two listings to your husband. Consider how much work it is to move. Close Zillow. Open Instagram.
Fully inspired by Daien Guo.
