No Excuses Accepted

By Tracy Clark

I don’t have anything interesting to write about this time.

You see, I’ve been living in a cave, figuratively not literally, for months now. Nose to the grindstone. Shoulder to the wheel. All that jazz. 

I have a book to finish. A deadline looming. Writing. It’s a job, one I’m blessed to have, and there can be no excuses for not getting it done. I’m not worried. Much.

That hard line got me thinking recently about grade school, which in turn got me thinking about all those creative excuses my friends used to give for not turning in their homework on time. You know the ones. Like the dog ate it, or how they forgot what day it was, or that space aliens shook them down on the street and stole their bookbag with their book report on photosynthesis inside. Not their fault. Circumstances beyond their control. Intergalactic fiends!

Unfortunately, none of those excuses will work in my present situation, not that I would ever employ them here in the cave. Or could. Besides, I always had my homework. I was that kid. Until that dreaded day, I almost walked the Green Mile.

I had completed my homework assignment, packed by bookbag the next morning, and left for school not realizing I’d left it behind. I didn’t realize it, in fact, until I reached into said bag in social studies to find it clearly not there. I panicked. My life flashed before my eyes. I could see my homework sitting on the dining room table where I left it.

The room stilled. My heart raced. I got a queasy feeling in the pit of stomach. Those Froot Loops I ate for breakfast were not going to stay down. You see, sister Noreen taught social studies. Sister “I do NOT accept late assignments” Noreen! Sister Noreen, tall, looming. The hangin’ judge. The Black Bart of the fifth grade. I was going to die.

She went around the room collecting assignments from trembling hands. And then she got to my desk. I had nothing. I stood slowly and fessed up. Her eyes narrowed. I closed my eyes awaiting my imminent execution. 

“Bring it in tomorrow,” she said gruffly, as she moved on to the next kid covered in flop sweat.

I stood there for a second, my knees shaking. Not sure I’d heard her right. I had to ask the kid next to me. “What’d she just say?”

But it was true. I was saved. Reprieved. The world felt lighter. The sun brighter. I wasn’t going to die. I walked out of that classroom feeling three feet tall.

I don’t know why it is this childhood nightmare I recall now as I sit firmly ensconced in my writer’s chair trying to peck out a new story with a hard deadline staring me in the face. My editor doesn’t look anything like Sister Noreen. But writing is a job now, and the assignment’s due. And tomorrow don’t mean jack when the deadline was yesterday.

So, this is what my blog is about this time. The getting it done, the follow through of writing. Ideas are great. Plots are fun. None of that counts unless you can hit send on the final draft and get the book where it needs to be when they need it to be there. This is where the metal hits the road. When you sit smack dab in the in-between as other things (life) press in and swallow your time.

Writers, I’ve learned, write when it’s fun and but also when it isn’t. Writing when it’s not fun is harder. Writers write when they don’t feel well or when all they want to do is crawl under the covers with a bowl of popcorn and watch the entire “Thin Man” catalog on Turner Classic Movies. Like I did yesterday. Instead, I got to my writing chair. Excuses are not an option.

This is why I’ve got nothing exciting to write about this time around. I’ve just been sitting here typing away. Maybe my next blog post will be livelier. Maybe next time I’ll dive with sharks, or something.

Right now, I’m writing.

And now thinking about Sister Noreen.

She’s probably up there right now giving some fifth-grade angel the absolute business.

Have you heard any creative writer excuses lately? Given any?