The Battle of Resistance

This is a guest post from monthly contributor and storytelling genius Darrelyn Saloom. Follow her on Twitter. The photo above shows Darrelyn's youngest son, Jesse, emerging from battle to hand his mommy a pink crayon and a gardenia on his first birthday on May 28, 1987. (For more great stories from Darrelyn, click on "Guest Post" in the categories column to the left.)

Miserable, this past September, I perused Twitter in search of relief. And found it. Steven Pressfield was guest author for a literary chat called LitChat. Wow! Steven Pressfield, author of The Legend of Bagger Vance, Last of the Amazons, Tides of War, Gates of Fire, The Virtues of War, but also a jewel of a book I’d not yet discovered, The War of Art.

Writers on Twitter questioned Pressfield for an hour. I managed to contribute a tweet or two, but awestruck, I froze up. Fortunately, other writers had their wits about them and asked excellent questions. And the author’s answers cut to the core of my suffering. A former Marine, he said his service “taught him to be miserable—a crucial skill for a writer. Seriously, not to complain but to keep doing it.”

I’d been complaining to my husband for weeks. Maybe I better just shut up and get back to work. Good advice. And wouldn’t that make my husband happy. And then Pressfield explained Resistance, the subject of The War of Art: “Resistance is that negative force that tries to stop us from doing what we know we should—write, work out, etc.” Bingo! My problem exactly.

In misery, I’d found so many excuses not to write: I’m out of ideas; I don’t feel well (four rounds of antibiotics, two cortisone shots, and I was still sick). I’m in menopause and about to turn 54. Yikes! My pity pot was endless. Okay, so I’m not in the Marines. I’m not sitting in a foxhole, in the rain, dodging bullets. I have a chronic sinus infection for goodness sakes. I’m running out of hormones.

But illness was not the enemy. Resistance was the enemy and had found a petri dish to blossom in my neurotic thinking. As soon as LitChat concluded, I ordered The War of Art. Overnight delivery, please. This was an emergency. By the next day, I was armed with a Pressfield paperback and found more on the subject of art and misery and even the Marines. Pressfield writes:

Hell, indeed. But so far so good, I had the misery part covered. Reading further, Pressfield named my enemy: Resistance. But he did more than name it. He defined its insidious personality, its wily disguises, its teaching abilities. That’s right, teaching abilities. Because the news here is not all bad, the infallible enemy is also a teacher:

Well, my current memoir collaboration must be aligned with the stars. Never in my life have I battled such Resistance. And for anyone who’s in the midst of her own battle, who struggles to get down to work, doubts she is good enough, blows her nose a lot and stares blankly at a computer screen, wonders why she bothered to wake up, this is for you:

So take comfort in knowing you’re on the right track. But don’t let your guard down. Not for a minute. Arm yourself with a copy of Stephen Pressfield’s The War of Art; don your camouflaged helmet, your flak jacket and weapons. Battle Resistance every day, in spite of excuses, no matter what, by giving birth to the work you are meant to do.