That brief moment of 14-year-old humor was brought to you in reverence to my sisters known as the Slapahos. Why are we called Slapahos? I’ll tell you when you’re older.
It’s officially been 7 months since I stopped working. Back in January I made the scary and difficult decision to quit my job for several different reasons. I know what you’re thinking: why would anyone willingly volunteer to stop getting a paycheck? But in return, I was able to focus on my health, my sanity and my overall happiness. I made a personal oath to myself that I would use my time wisely. I would wake up without fuss each morning, see my fiancé off to his job, tidy the house and spend the next several hours writing and/or working on story submissions until it was time to make dinner. Did that happen?
No.
What my typical routine morphed into was that of waking up an hour or two after my fiancé left for work, stumble around the kitchen to find my tea or coffee, listen to talk radio while I read email and Facebook, do the dishes/laundry if I’m particularly motivated enough, play on Facebook some more, read cold case stories or odd news articles, start working on dinner when Robert gets home, then after dinner, and only then I sit down for my perceived last hour of the day to work on writing. My goal and dream of being a full-time writer producing legitimate literary material did not pan out as it should have. I was not conducting myself as a “serious” writer. Even now as I write this, I got distracted and checked out Facebook. This “serious” writer needs a serious intervention.
This morning I changed up my routine a bit. The fact that I’m writing a blog entry is proof of that. As a writer, I had a great night last night. And the night before as well. For the new novel, I have a habit of writing several chapters over a month-long basis, (that’s handwritten, pen and paper and all), then I spend the next month typing and editing. Some think I’m crazy for that, but it really does help me keep on track with the story and not get too many plot points or details mixed or missed. So, the last two nights I finished edits on one chapter and moved on to the next. Let me stop for a moment and explain something. My chapters are monsters. I am not a light writer. My chapters are rarely less than 4000 words. Some of my best chapters reach up to 9000 words. I think that’s a habit I picked up in college because my prof always cut me off at 4000 words. All of my chapters can pretty much work as short stories. So to say it takes me several days (sometimes weeks) to edit a chapter is not a sign of laziness, but it’s to let you know my chapters are long. They are detailed. They are monsters.
Getting back to my point, the last two nights I got roughly 6000 words edited: well written, well thought out, metaphored, symbolized, alliterated, obliterated, moving-plot-forward type of words. I was ecstatic. Getting a chapter just right and completed sends me into a state of euphoria I simply can’t explain. Other writers and artists understand where I’m coming from on this one. It’s like being in love. And as cliché as it sounds, it’s better than sex. It’s my drug and I have no shame in abusing it.
But the morning after is when I feel the drop. The feeling is gone and I wonder why it doesn’t last. But I know all I need to do is get back to writing to feel it again. (Just as soon as I spend 2 hours fucking around on Facebook.)
I wonder sometimes if I became conditioned over the course of my life to only write at night. Thinking back, in high school I wrote when I got home. As a working adult, I saved my writing for when I got home. As a college student, I broke it up a bit and wrote while at school, but then I was a creative writing student. Back to work, back to writing at night, although I built up a routine to reserve 30 minutes during my lunch break to writing. During some weeks, it was the ONLY time I wrote. After looking at all this, what is it about night writing? Up until recently, writing was defined as my “hobby”. And you don’t do your hobby during the day. Because prior, I spent all my time on improving my mind or winning the bread. I felt like if I was writing during the day, then something more “serious” was getting missed, like my job (that thing I got a paycheck for), house work or my dedication to my family or friends, or looking for work because I would like a paycheck again someday. Something in my life was going to get missed and in the back of my mind I thought I couldn’t let that happen.
Changing my views and thoughts about writing shouldn’t be this hard. I thought it would be a more natural transition. Being a writer is not hard for me. After all, I love it. But finding a writer’s routine is a part of this love affair I’m having difficulty with. What can I do to stop myself from feeling guilty about writing in the morning? Or writing eight hours a day? If I was a “serious” writer, I would stop making excuses. That’s what all multi-published, well paid writers will tell you.
Maybe my blog will help. Maybe I’ll spend the next several hours writing like I really want to. I have a 6000 word chapter to finish editing so I can get back to the handwriting. I won’t ignore the dishes, but I’ll ignore the laundry on the couch….at least for a few hours.
I will edit. I will write. I will breathe and let the euphoria wash over me. It’s my first love, after all, and one I should never take for granted.
The Paperback Writer 