these smelly bits of distraction come in many forms but we all know them by their putrid odor and the curses that escape our lips as we spill the coffee either in our laps or onto our laptops (and who wouldn't choose scalded genitals over a ruined computer? skin heals, finely designed magic boards don't) as we reach in vain for the gossamer wings of the irritated muse who's decided to do his job at some local bar where at least his client has a purpose.
i have a purpose, i swear i do. i just get distracted. extremely distracted. it's not that i don't know what i want to do with my life, i've known since i was ten. i'm truly suprised when i talk to people who don't.
but back to the reasons i don't write as much as i want to, which makes me smile as i'm actually writing now.
there are myriads of "reasons" a kinder, more gentle word for "excuses." and by many people's standards mine are not only passable but highly valid.
there are, for example, my three children. two of which are teen-agers. and while they are old enough to feed themselves (if ruffles and nerd ropes are considered actual food) and entertain themselves (if i can push the thoughts of them being "ruined for life" from my head due to their excessive exposure to all those evil electronics when not being monitored by yours truly). the fact is, i like them. i can honestly say that i chose to conceive all three of them. being part of a big family myself and posessing a love of trying anything new caused me to reproduce not only once but three times. but three must be the new six, six being the number of kids in both my husband's family and mine. to put it simply it's a freaking handful and they definitely outnumber us. we often wonder aloud if our parents were saints or fools or just plain horny. needless to say, to mention to anyone considering this perfectly natural but hugely overwhelming endeavor, "you have no idea," is somewhat akin to saying that hurricane katrina was, "just a little flood." and while i admit that my firstborn who, like me, was a test rat of sorts, she's a wonderful human being who will surely find her own way in this world. even if it means doing it in a fashion quite different than many of those who love her (including myself) might choose. after spending the Dreaded Cold Winter keeping myself sane(ish) and warm in my big jacuzzi bath i read many autobiographies (or are they called memoirs now?) written by intelligent and seemingly well adjusted people who endured the most horrid of upbringings (the glass castle, the hypocrisy of disco, bastard out of carolina to name a few) i think my kids will be fine. if anything i'm starting to believe that they are spoiled even though they tell me, quite dramatically sometimes, that they feel deprived if they don't have the latest video game system or the newest cell phone.
but yes, as much as i wanted them and love them so much it almost hurts, which makes me get out of my bath sanctuary sometimes in order to spend "quality time" with them by playing never-ending board games, going on hikes and watching re-runs of SNL, they are the ultimate distraction.
so today i moved my desk into my bedroom, put up pictures of deities and quotes from cool groovy famous people and lit a candle. then i sat down with the kids and explained how we all need to do things every day that we wanted to be good at. i fed them ham sandwiches and tangelos and gave them a list of chores to do before they surgically attached themselves to the x-box. then i kissed them and went into my room and closed the door.
if you want to do something well, do it every day.
i tend to overanalyze everything which i know now is a curse. i mean it's funny in a seinfeld sort of way, but no matter how many enlightening books i read by deepak chopra and marianne williamson, i don't ever want to lose my sense of humour. yes, i just spelled it the british way 'cuz it looks cool.
and if writing every day isn't an admirable enough goal in itself i spent at least a few weeks lamenting what to write. not in the sense of finding my voice or my "personal style," those things come naturally with age and practice. i'm talking about this:
do i work on editing my third novel, the one i think is the best of the three i wrote in the last three years during NANOWRIMO (an organization started in the bay area of california where i and a bunch of other people around the world write 50,000 words in 30 days) or do i focus on writing practice a la natalie goldberg (writing down the bones, wild mind). do i write articles and stories for magazines until i get published, not because i feel the burning desire to have to do so, isn't writing without being published fine? but because it's challenging and feels good to be published (i suppose as i've only collected a handful of rejections so far) and because there's that little incentive known as money which not only allows me to do what i love and get paid for it but also so i can show those who think i should get a "real job" that this is it? or then again, should i just write in my journal?
hmmm....seems i'm back to procrasti-straction. i think i will decree that blogging will count as my writing practice and also i'll be "putting myself out there." when i finish for the day i can click on the sexy orange button below this box i'm now writing in, the one that says, "PUBLISH POST." so there. i'm published. and part of (a big part if i believe all the books i read) getting what you want is acting like you're there before you actually are.
so a few more distractions then i'm off to throw some sort of ball around with the boys so they can do hilariously embarrasing imitations of "how mommy throws."
top ten distractions for a writer
1. kids-see above
2. having to use the bathroom more than usual
3. phone: answering, calling, checking messages, texting (no, texting is not really writing)
4. overwhelming desire to check e-mail and then not only read but respond to and somehow justify such time as "writing time"
5. overwhelming desire to web surf for anything at all, even if writing related it ain't writing now, is it?
6. ok, if genuinely writing an article or story that needs "research" then web surfing is a valid and welcome distraction
7. hunger and/or thirst
8. issues regarding lighting, temperature of room in which writing is taking place, wardrobe issues (see temperature, or if expecting company, appropriateness of said outfit)
9. "emergencies" not involving blood, the need for stitches or fires/floods/robbery
10. (and this is a big and often overlooked one) your very own brain. it remembers, it forgets, it convinces you that you really should do anything other than what you're doing right now, which is, i must point out, the thing you love to do
case in point. writers write. right?
1 comment:
I wish you were my mom. I guess I got the next best thing...
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