On Process, Not Progress: Getting Ready to Get Ready
Process doesn’t always look like progress.
You might call yourself a procrastinator. But are you really?
If you haven’t started yet, it doesn’t mean you aren’t already in it.
Sometimes, doing the thing is the smallest part of doing the thing.
Painting the Room, Not Just the Wall
Last weekend I painted my bedroom. Which is to say, I went to the hardware store, taped edges, unscrewed switch plates, moved furniture, laid down drop cloths, stirred the paint, went back to the hardware store, set up a step stool, poured paint— and only then, briefly, set brush to wall.
The rest of the day was picking up drop cloths, removing tape, screwing in switch plates, washing brushes, moving furniture.
I like painting. I really do. It’s the setup and teardown I find tiresome.
The Novel, the Dog, and Everything Else
I noticed I’ve been doing something similar with the novel I’m writing.
Cleared the to-do list. Caught up on house stuff. Tended just enough in the garden to quiet the guilt.
I’ve gotten up with the dog at 4 AM and watched her pace circles for a good 45 minutes, finding just the right spot to do her business—before demanding breakfast. She’s curled up and drifting back to sleep at precisely the time I need to switch gears and go to work.
And then, I’ve put in a full day. Mentally drained, relieved to see the clock strike 4 PM. I go out to walk the gardens and let the chickens know I still exist. The dog needs attention again. Food—right, yes—food for all the hungry mouths.
Now I’m ready. For real for real. I can write. I will write. One for the Inkwell, two for the show. Three to get ready…
Circling the Work
I’ve opened the document. Hovered the mouse. Read through all the half-written blog posts and unanswered prompts, struggling to find one that lands just right for today.
Trying to clear a path toward the novel. I’ve done everything but the part where the brush hits the wall.
Maybe This All Counts
We feel as though we are sifting through distractions to find the essence. But maybe all of it counts.
Maybe this is the tape and drop cloth phase. The prep work. Not so much the destination, but the whole journey.
And most of the work happens before anything looks like work at all.
It’s not avoidance. It’s process.
If you’re a writer, an artist, a maker of any kind—you know this. The life around the work is part of the work. The clearing of space. The circling. The long inhale before the brush touches the wall, or the ink meets the page.
Embrace the Before and After
Because the truth is, most of anything we love lives in the before and after. The stirring, the pacing, the moving of mental furniture.
Even the novel—the part I ache to write—is surrounded by the noise of the everything-else. It isn’t wasted time. It’s what makes the moment of actual writing possible.
So if you’ve been telling yourself you’re behind, you should have “started” by now— maybe you’re already in it.
Those nagging thoughts? They’re your drop cloth.
Brush to wall is only ever a few minutes, surrounded by a full day of preparation and aftermath. But we tend to only remember the painted room.
Honor all of the work, not just the result.
Almost ready. Almost.
Love, Karin (with an eye)
P.S. If what feels like creative procrastination has you stuck, you might find comfort in my Writing in Seasons post—it explores dormancy as an essential part of the process.
If the noise of everyday life is obscuring your path, this planner is a lovely tool for taming the chaos and creating space for “the thing”. Affiliate link—thank you for supporting The Evergreen Inkwell.
