Now or Later

I wish I was one of those people who could spring (or even crawl) out of bed at 5 in the morning. I feel that I would surely have time to write every day if I did that. As it is, I barely give myself enough time to eat breakfast and wash my face before work. Then evenings are spent exercising, cleaning, cooking, and being with my fiance. Sometimes I have a chance to write at work, but I can't rely on it.

I've always thought that I need to reach the place where writing IS my work. That way I can come home in the evenings and have nothing to do but relax and play! So I work jobs that leave me more free time than most. And I try to fill my free time with writing, but I'm not always successful.

One of the main Time Stealers for me is Screen Time, and by that I mean time in front of the Internet and television. There's nothing wrong with a little email, reading the news, and researching things to do. And cuddling up in front of a movie with my man and a bowl of popcorn is awesome. But I do these things to excess because I am bored, insecure, tired, or depressed.

It's a constant struggle with myself, to devote my time to that which makes me happiest in the long run, even if it's the more challenging choice in the moment. I so often choose what is most pleasurable in the moment, even if it means I have to suffer later on.

My role model for overcoming this inner sloth is Haruki Murakami, the bestselling Japanese author who gets up at 4 am every morning to write for 5 hours, then goes running for several hours after that. From what I can gather, he doesn't think too much about other alternatives. He decides on his course of action and just does it.


photo of haruki murakami

First Step

Yes, I did it. Phew.

The draft of the novel is about 200 pages, single spaced. On one hand it feels like a giant achievement. My honey took me out to a fancy restaurant to celebrate. On the other hand I am aware of how far I have to go! I have started revising. I'm doing it by hand with a red pen. Correcting the sludgy parts is pretty easy, it's then changing them in the computer that is taking time.

I'm already ruminating over the next novel in my head. I mentioned it months ago in this blog, had started it, dropped it, etc.

My goal is to finish the revision by my wedding in six weeks. I recognize that this is probably unrealistic, but I'd love to not think about how to fix the ending while on my honeymoon.

Busy but/and Writing

Well, I'm picking this up again. I don't know why. It's not like I don't have too much to do already without writing blog entries. I'm working six days a week as a massage therapist, planning my wedding that is less than eight weeks away, taking care of this body that seems to require increasing amounts of time and attention the older I get, and maintaining my relationships and home.

And writing. I've been writing fairly regularly again since about 2 months ago. I am several pages away from finishing the first draft of a novel. This is a huge accomplishment for me. I started this project 6 years ago and have abandoned it for years at a time. More on what got me back writing later. For now, I'm off to write. Trying to do an hour a day, getting at least 30 minutes in, if not more.

Oh, I'm reading a great book on writing. The title is How to Become a Famous Writer Before You're Dead. It's by Ariel Gore. Very inspiring and fun.


photo of ariel gore

Perhaps my art in this lifetime is about the frustration I feel, knowing there is something wrong with the world but neither what nor how to fix it. Just knowing there is something terribly wrong, a fatal flaw deep within the design. And I shouldn't say "the world", because the world is perfect. The world just is. I should say "the human world." So much unnecessary suffering.

Hope for the Seasoned

Well, sort of writing. Here and there. Some days I look at the story I'm working on and I think it's fantastic, and other days I think it's shit. I need to learn to shut that critic up and just be the writer!

I'm in the middle of a New Yorker article on Raymond Carver. He didn't really start writing seriously until his mid to late thirties, and didn't publish his first book until his forties. Not that I'm trying to say I've got time. But I don't need to feel like I'm washed up, missed my boat, or let the flame die out.


(photo of raymond carver)