Writers On The Storm

*No, this is not another post about writing in the middle of change and professional turmoil — that one is tomorrow <G> — but it refers to a more personal type of turmoil.  As I write this an hour before flying home from TX (well, before I have to be at the airport, at least) and had to make an effort to think coherently (as coherently as happens around here, wise guy!)  while trying to remember if I charged/packed everything and making sure I have  a ride home from the airport at the other end.*

At the workshop, one of the participants asked how I managed to do the social media, a blog a day and still finish books.  Of course the way I do it is by not being human.  It really helps when you’re undead and don’t need to sleep, eat or…  Oh, okay fine – grumble – it’s not that good a joke.  It’s early in the morning and I’ve only had a cup of coffee.

The truth is that – though I’ve since found most writers who are also mothers tend to wait till the kids are out of the house to start trying to write seriously – I had to learn to write around interruptions, so they slow me but don’t stop me.

When I first started writing my writing time segments were around 5 to 10 minutes, because #1 son was never that good at naps.  This expanded when the boys entered kindergarten because I had four to five hours, suddenly.  That is when I found how conditioned I was to writing in segments because I kept popping up every few minutes, feeling like I was forgetting something.

Now, of course, I often have the whole “school day” to myself.  Sort of.  Kind of.  There’s the days the phone rings ever ten minutes for some household admnistrivia “we’ll be replacing power lines in your area” or “this is the pharmacy and your order is ready” or “We wonder if #2 son means to take x y z test, because the payment is due today.”  The interruption ranges from “make a note, get back to them later” to “Oh, shoot, see if we have a receipt for this, or if it is something that must be done.”  There are days the kids are home for some reason and I always end up involved in whatever they’re doing if they’re home.  There are days when my husband needs me to find a document in our labyrinthine files and/or we find enough time to take a lunch break together.  There are days none of these happen, but I want to go to the museum so badly that it’s all I can think about.  And days when I play hooky and take off to go look at art, or to go paint in the art nook downstairs.

But most days – regular work days – those aren’t too bad.  It’s more that my routine, since I write but also do most of the housekeeping and keeping the house running, incorporates both.  Something like this – wake up.  Get presentable.  Make sure everyone is on their way to their appointments/work/school with all the needed materials.  Have coffee.  Feed cats.  Have more coffee.  (I normally wake up between five thirty and six thirty.)  Go for a walk.  Clean kitchen and/or straighten around us, including but not limited to cat boxes.  At around 9 am sit down to write blog.  Post blog.  Have cofee and throw laundry in or whatever needs to be done that is an “episodic task” for the day.  Sit down again at around ten thirty to eleven (depending on how long the blog post takes) and start writing.  Twelve thirty to one break for lunch.  This can take a longer time if one of the kids is home for lunch (college schedules are weird.)  Check FB, post, etc.  Answer blog comments.  Read news (I already read some in the morning.)  If I’m alone for lunch, I read during lunch and also during housework breaks.  Put more laundry in and start considering dinner and/or bring stuff out to defrost.  Go back up and write till 2:30 to 3.  Younger kid comes home pretty regularly at 3.  Spend some time with him.  If there are no appointments or something I must do, sit down again at three thirty to four, work till five.  Go make dinner.  Sit back down at seven thirty or so.  Work till ten.  Collapse.  Rinse.  Repeat.

Now if you’re going to tell me this is not an efficient schedule – yeah, I know that.  I’d like to start writing all my blog posts in the afternoon on Sunday and just scheduling them, partly because it’s not the best service I can do for you to write these in the stark light of uncafeinated morning.  For one, the grouch comes out.  For another I’d like to develop a daily theme, which I’ve outlined here, sort of, and the last minute postings stop it.

This is also the reason I’ve considered an office, and the reason I often go to office-ish.  It cuts out all those distractions.  It’s also the reason I often escape to another city, flights permitting, or hole up in a hotel in town to finish a book.  (This escape didn’t work that well as far as writing VOLUME.  I’m starting to think a week hemmed in by Fencon and a workshop is never going to be productive. [No, Sarah, astonish me!] But I DID get past the “difficult” chapters so now the rest should get done faster.)

The problem of course is that if I go to an office five days a week, then I have to catch up with all the other stuff.

Yes, an assistant, particularly a trusted one, and/or a housekeeper would be great.  They’re right up there on my list of wishes.  But barring winning the lottery or having a runaway bestseller (Indie, to be quick enough) I will not be able to afford that for another two/three years, when, the creek not rising, the boys will be out of the house, which I think will mean fewer interruptions and possibly less work.  (There’s a type of mess adults don’t make.  And no, it’s not what you’d expect.  It’s more “why is the milk carton under the dresser” type of mess, for which the answer usually ends up being “Well, we were playing soccer with it in the hallway and…”) I have vague (and fond!) memories of being just me and Dan in the house, and the house would stay clean, except for dusting/vaccuuming.  Even with cats there.

Of course, I PLAN to win the lottery, but they keep picking the wrong numbers.  I think it’s a conspiracy.  So, for now, I’m stuck writing around life.  It’s, like everything else, an habit.  I suspect when my circumstances change, I’ll write less for a few weeks, as my subconscious tries to figure out how to settle for longer periods of time.

Yeah, I’d like it to be different, but until a miracle occurs, I must do what I can with what I have.  I’ve found that like waiting to have your life completely stable to have kids, waiting to have your life completely stable to write is a fool’s game.  Life will change when you least expect it.  But you’re a writer, so you must write.  And years later you’ll read something you wrote and go “Interesting.  I remember how I wrote this.  But no one could tell from the book what a mess my life was at that time.”  Just like you read Heinlein’s bio and you go “He was writing those hope-filled books while, basically, living in personal hell.”

And that, in retrospect is the greatest achievement of all.  That you created an oasis of calm in the middle of insanity and that you shared it with others whose life might be even crazier.  And you didn’t let circumstances stop you.  Which is the best any of us can do, sometimes.