How Do I Avoid Thee?

This parody was originally published on Medium.

I didn’t want you to miss it!

Hey, fans. It’s here: “How to Not Write, 4.0” …

I once again found myself updating my essay on how to avoid what you’re supposed to be writing by doing something else, even writing something else. More than “a crash course for writers,” as I described the version on Medium, it’s for anyone who procrastinates.

This is the fourth or fifth version of an essay I started in the eighties, when my kids, then around 8 and 11, began to catch me in the act of not writing. Whenever our loft in the West Village smelled of brownies, one of them would ask knowingly (if not snarkily), “Got a deadline, Mom?”

Zoom ahead forty years. The “kids” are now solidly middle aged. I’ve since discovered a wealth of new distractions over the years — fascinating and often surprising ways to disappear down a rabbit hole.

Like writing a poem, instead of finishing of the ten or twenty other pieces on my computer. Or — God forbid — working on the book proposal an agent actually wants.

What better way to not-write?

If “rolling over in one’s grave” is possible, I apologize to Elizabeth Barrett Browning in advance for the disruption.

HOW DO I AVOID THEE?

How do I avoid thee? Let me count the ways.

I avoid thee with the gaze and speed of sloth

My soul can reach, when feeling overwhelmed

By the pulls and pains of responsibility.

I avoid thee all: paper and platform and

Most dreadful task, the next book proposal.

I avoid thee freely, as I am underpaid.

I avoid thee purely, as scribes reach for words.

I avoid thee with a passion spurred by flow

In my glory days, and with my journalist soul

I avoid thee with an avoidance honed so long

With my lost agents. I avoid thee by doing,

Anything that is not writing, and, if God choose,

I shall but avoid thee better after death.

As a reference, below is the original poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, first published in 1850:

HOW DO I LOVE THEE?

How do I love thee?  Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of being and ideal grace.

I love thee to the level of every day’s

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

I love thee freely, as men strive for right.

I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.

I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.