Writing After Life Kicks You in the Teeth

I always thought that writer's block wasn't a real thing. That you could just sit down and start writing, and eventually you would figure out what should happen next. I wrote for over seven years and hadn't ever experienced a block that I couldn't work free of in an hour. Free writing, brain maps, and character interviews are all useful for that sort of thing. I've even written ridiculously impossible scenes before and then edited them into coherency.

Then my life blew up.

It's not that I didn't have time to write. Everyone has time to write, if they make it a priority. (Or so I've been told.) But my life was falling apart, and I felt like I couldn't talk to anybody about it for over a year. And the emotional stress, or depression, or whatever you want to call it (neither of those terms seem quite right) whatever it was, it sucked the creativity out of me. I can't really explain it any other way. I had no desire to be creative or think about stories or even read. Which is kind of a big deal, for me. I didn't read a single book for a year.

Like I said, it's not that I didn't have the time. It's not that I didn't have ideas or something to be working on. (I've been in the middle of Lost Princesses for an embarrassingly long time.) I just didn't. Or couldn't. I'm not sure which.

During that time, I moved twice and took care of my kids, took a few college classes, and prepared to build my life back from the ground up. And I'm still in the middle of that process. But recently, I had a story idea.

Not just any idea. The first idea I've had in a very, very long time. The first inkling that I would ever be able to write again. (The guilt of not finishing my other books had been the only motivation I'd had during that time, and it wasn't enough motivation, obviously.)

I wrote down my idea, sketching out a short story from beginning to end. And I've been kinda excited about it.

And then today, I had an idea on six other related short stories that could become something very cool. Something I've never seen before in fiction. And I got so excited about it that I felt an almost panicky feeling. The feeling that I needed to write. Now.

So I did. I wrote a thousand words today.

I'm not sure what will happen with my writing. I don't know when the next book will come out. But what I can tell you is that I am writing. And it feels awesome.

There's Always Something

There’s always something. Even as I write this, my two year old is hitting his sister and my four year old is trying to show me all the unusual things Mary Poppins can do. Finding time to write is both a science and an art.

A science? Well, yeah. I have to make sure the kids are on a regular sleep schedule. Otherwise they sleep at different times (or not at all) and I have no time to write. And no sanity.

And of course it’s an art. All the planning in the world can fizzle into nothingness if the toddler is stubborn enough. Or, like this week, I find out moments after going grocery shopping that we have no paper towels and I forgot to buy diaper rash cream. So it takes some creativity, if I want my book to grow.

Maybe the kids will watch a movie in the other room for an hour and a half? Unlikely. Maybe one of my sisters is just dying to take care of them for me? They have busy lives, too. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s a holiday that I forgot about and my husband will be home to watch the kids for me. It could happen.

Sometimes I only get a short amount of time to write. Actually, it’s usually only a short amount of time. You know what I’ve learned to do?

Take breaks. It seems counter-intuitive. If I only have two hours or an hour and a half, it makes sense to dive into my work and get as much done as I possibly can. But taking five-minute breaks (before I get tired!) goes a long way.

So, yeah. Some weeks the kids are really good at keeping me from my writing. I do what I can.

I try to be smart (and creative and methodical and thoughtful) and I keep making progress when I can. Every drop in the bucket counts. Eventually, I produce a story I can be proud of. Even if it takes a little longer than I’d like to admit.