Different Morning
This morning was a different morning, but mainly because I made it different. Last night I wound back the alarm from 7am to 6am. I had intentions to find an hour and a half of uninterrupted private time to write. There's time like that after midnight every night but it's not the same. At that end of the day I'm not motivated.
I'd been reading more about the process of writing. One common message shines through. If you want to be a writer you have to write. Do it every day. Make time for it. Do it even when you don't feel like it. Is this starting to sound like discipline?
At six the radio blared. I killed it and crawled out of bed. I'm not a morning person but this was something I could make work by shear force of willpower. I'd thought it through last night. If I was quick with the alarm and got myself out of the bedroom quietly then WifeOfVirge would drop back to sleep for another hour and I could tap away quietly in the study. I shuffled across the carpet in the dark.
"Whoops. Sorry Gandalf. Didn't see you sleeping there."
In the kitchen I started making coffee. I switched on the light in the study.
"Wake up computer," said I as I jogged the mouse.
"I said, wake up computer!" I moved the mouse again.
Murphy was testing my resolve. I hit the reset button. That gave me time to check email on another computer while the reboot and disc check trickled through. It was morning so my will was strong. I cleared the spam and closed the browser--no distractions for this little black duck.
By 6:06am I had hot coffee, a willing computer and I had BIC. BIC is a special recipe for writers. It stands for Bum In Chair (or Butt In Chair if youall prefer). It's part of that business about making yourself write. I considered my start a success.
"Yowl!"
"Shhhhhh! What's the matter, Gandalf?" I should have known this would happen. "You thirsty, puss?" I poured a bowl of milk and placed it down for him, wondering how to avoid further disturbances to WifeOfVirge. I closed the bedroom door. Coffee, computer and chair were waiting for discipline, determination and some other d-word that has something to do with writing... derring-do? depravity? dementia? Never mind.
I returned to the study. The post-milk bowl yowls at the end of the hall were background now. I was focused. I had a framework for a set of short stories, a list of potential themes and settings, some notes on my main character and a few scribbles on potential supporting roles. What I didn't have was a story to tell. I needed conflict. I needed something that would grow to an exciting climax and resolve leaving a feeling of satisfaction. I wanted multiple threads of plot that could surprise the reader by meshing, then combining in a retrospectively obvious conclusion. You're dreaming, Virge. Dreaming! Let's make that the third d-word.
I dreamed. The blinding revelations weren't available this morning. I think the revelation transport workers must be on strike or something. I checked the back of the cupboards for any orgasmic inspirations. None. Just a few moldy musings that even the mice couldn't stomach. Maybe dreaming wasn't the right word. I resorted to describing and detailing. I started to create a character to interact with my protagonist in the hope that a conflict would develop.
The mood of my house changed. DaughterOfVirge was up and getting ready for school. I made a wake-up cuppa for WifeOfVirge and returned to the chair. A couple of sentences later my concentration was being beaten back. Normality had marshalled its forces to repel my different morning. Time to beat a retreat.
On the plus side, WifeOfVirge had managed to get back to sleep, but only after getting out of bed and letting CatOfVirge into the bedroom for his morning session of "sit on the sleepy human". I had managed to get about an hour of quality time with my written romance. It wasn't a complete failure, but it wasn't enough of a success to justify the disturbance of sleep. I think I'll find some other way. (See how determined I am? See the analytical problem solver at work?)
Shaved and showered, dressed and breakfasted, I packed my lunch, grabbed my bag and waited for SonOfVirge to finish packing for school. To add to the charm of my different morning, when I went to pull my car door handle I recoiled. My fingers had found something firm and furry under the handle where I expected smooth, cold metal. As I took a step back, a huntsman spider slid down the door and plopped to the road. It scuttled... no scuttled is too small a word. It scurried under the car, or perhaps even scampered. Yes, scampered is the word. The cheeky scamp of a spider had been hiding under the door handle just waiting to surprise me. All the way to work my finger tips could still feel the fuzziness of that unexpected intimacy.
I decided I wouldn't tell FamilyOfVirge of my close encounter. It would only worry them. For the next week they'd be bobbing down and peering under the handles before opening, or trying to pull the door handles with something other than fingers. Besides, this was the first time it had happened to me in years of driving. I'm pretty sure that spider will tell his mates at their next meeting.
"Let's try hiding under the door handles," a young one will say.
"Nahhh. I did that last week. Didn't even get a scream," will be my scamperer's experienced response.
Comments
See, there you go. That spider bit was great. It was great because it wasn't what you expect from a finding-a-giant-spider-under-your-fingers story. It didn't have the usual yuck factor, and offered a funny, bizarre perspective. It was also great because it was a nice little bite out of your life, which said as much about the way you think as about what happened.
The writing thing...here's some unsolicited and probably really dumb advice: It shouldn't require discipline. I think a lot of people see writing, art, and other creative jobs as being like mountains to climb, Herculean sorts of things, where you've got to work your arse off and turn out masterpieces. Writing every day is fun. I do it...but I look at it more as a break from work, a fun thing I can do to get my mind off serious stuff. That way, there's no procrastination involved. In fact, writing is what I do when I'm procrastinating. It's how I procrastinate. Come to think of it, I'm procrastinating right now. Shame on me. I'm supposed to be making Stella's dinner, and here I am yammering on about writing, which, let's face it, is hardly my area of expertise.
Anyhow, though, what I'm trying to say here is that maybe all you need to do is adjust your approach a bit. Instead of thinking about getting your butt in your seat and churning out written matter whether you want to or not...think about why you want to write to begin with. I mean, you know it's fun. The more you look forward to it, the more you'll get done.
Also...YOU TOUCHED A SPIDER! EW! FAUGH! GROSS!
Thanks Rats. I know writing is fun. Where I see the biggest need for discipline is not in finding time to write, but time to write and finish something of significance. I write a lot of tiny pieces. I get distracted. I start on something that I love, then I flit to other things that provide more immediate returns.
I need to force myself to finish something longer in order to get a positive feedback loop going. At the moment I'm not convinced that I can write anything that would keep anyone engrossed for more than a few pages. That's what causes the motivational barrier. Once I get past that barrier I suspect the late night time slot will work for me and external interruptions will be less distracting.
I enjoy a sprint. Now I want to push through the pain barrier and get those endorphins to kick in. And when they do... :D
Did you ever do that National Novel-Writing month lark? I wanted to do it last year (excellent way to pass a dull November), but had way too much work at the time. It would be a good way to get a first draft of something knocked out, though. If you type fast, anyhow.
No. I looked at it and didn't think I had a hope. I've still got a lot of bad habits I need to break. I think my worst is constant editing as I write. It slows me down.
I know lots of people who wish they could do something like one of those speed-novel events, but feel like they'd never make it. (Myself included--I keep saying I'll do it when I don't have so much work to do, but I ALWAYS have lots of work to do!)
I bet if a bunch of us did it informally, on some kind of deadline, and kept each other's spirits up with progress reports and stuff, it could be done. (I've been saying THAT for years, as well.)