What I Learned in the Cave about Writing

Left: Taking a break in Mystic Cave

Right: Photo of Rushmore Cave 

Last summer, I worked as a tour guide at Rushmore Cave in South Dakota. (Yes, it is near Mt. Rushmore...and no, you can't see Mt. Rushmore while inside the cave). Tourists... 

Anyway, most people I have talked to think giving cave tours sounds like a cool job. For me, it wasn't so cool. I’m claustrophobic.

I knew about my phobia before accepting the job offer. I also knew that once I started there was no turning back, because I live 13 hours away from the cave. 

So, why did I do it?

To conquer my fears, of course! To be adventurous! To do all those things people tell me I am supposed to do "while I'm still young." 

And... I did it, with success. I went from whimpering through the standard walking tour through Rushmore Cave to conquering Mystic Cave, one of the most dangerous caves in South Dakota- that starts off with an hour of just crawling.

 By the end of the summer, I felt like a total bad-ass.

This last week, I went back to South Dakota- itching to get back into the cave. I packed up my spelunking clothes while dreaming of digging my way through passages, finding new rooms and naming them after myself. 

Guess what happened once I got into the cave?

I freaked. I was incapable of crawling through holes that were much simpler than things I had conquered last summer.

It was a humbling experience, to say the least. 

After nursing my wounded ego, I related my experience to writing. Sometimes, my excuse not to write is because I believe writing will come as easily to me tomorrow as it does today.

I'm here to tell you, if writing is anything like spelunking, it won't. 

For your own good, write everyday. Even if it's just for 10 minutes. Don't let yourself get to the point where imagining a simple plot and writing bullet points for it seems too difficult. If you do, your brain will probably feel the way that I did in the cave last week- grunting and  flailing my legs while trying to fit through holes that in reality probably could have fit two of me.

You don't want your writing brain to look like that.