The paint on the walls in my bathroom is peeling. It started about year ago, maybe more, due to a leak or moisture problem that hasn’t yet been diagnosed or remedied. When we first noticed it, we scraped off the old paint and applied a new coat. When the peeling started again, we scraped and painted, and even added some Zinsser to the worst spots.
Our efforts have all been only temporary. The paint continues to resist — it lays quietly at first, then it bubbles and cracks, and begins its slow leap from the wall.
After the last round of doomed painting, we agreed to bring in the professionals to evaluate the root cause before we try again. Until we do, we’ve just let the paint peel at gravity’s will. The effect is unsightly, and looks like neglect. I’m sure visitors who use the WC wonder why we haven’t taken care of it already.
And why haven’t I? I suppose other things have taken my attention: Work and family. Adventures, big and small. Walks to the lake, rot-sessions in front of the TV. Shoe-shopping and duvet-cover-wrestling and coyote-spotting. All the things of life.
Mind you, it’s not true that I’ve done nothing in all this time. Every once in a while, I’ll find myself in the bathroom, brushing my teeth or whatever, and I’ll reach out and pull on a curl of paint. I want it to come away in a long, smooth, satisfying release. Like when you run the scissors through wrapping paper without a single snag.
Not every piece I pull is satisfying; some bits flake away and disappear behind the vanity, or crumble into toxic powder between my fingertips.
I don’t have to do it for long. Even five minutes is enough to make a visible difference. Just today, I peeled off a piece that left behind a shape that kind of looks like the head of a fat unicorn.
Some of the peeling paint is farther out of reach, up near the ceiling. I see those bits up there, when I’m having a paint-peeling moment, but I don’t venture that high up. I’ll get to them later. For now, I’m okay with focusing on what’s in front of me, at eye level. Little by little, chip by chip, I’m laying bare the walls.
And one day, it’ll be done.
To all of you — to all of us — contemplating the seemingly endless task of a writing project, I say: whatever you can do today matters. Start with what’s in front of you — the scene you’re most excited to write, the meet-cute moment, the knockout ending, the final line, or even the title. You might feel like you’re not making progress, like those five minutes you were able to steal away and write barely made a dent in the big thing you’re working on. You might be scared off by those parts you haven’t thought through yet, the parts that feel out of reach.
For now, don’t worry about the bits you can’t reach. Write what’s in front of you. Pluck at that peel of paint, follow that thread of a story. Of course, you’re not peeling paint; you’re applying it. You’re building it up, layering scenes and characters and plot into something beautiful and unique.
With each page, each sentence, each word, you are getting closer to done.
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Maria Hypponen 