Otherways- Fiction Fanatics

If you're writer, chances are you've read a few of the blog posts telling you how to write, followed by the avalance of comments that basically say that there is no one correct way. You've probably also burned through a million posts and comments where authors tell you how amazing they are, that they churn out forty correct, publication ready pages per day, never use spell check, have shiny, flake-free hair, and they'll be running a decathalon tomorrow right after meeting with some lovely folks about movie rights.

It's enough to make any prospective writer tear out their hair and sob, certain that they can't possibly pull this off.

Let me give you an honest peak into a good day, a bad day, and one of those days. Will this help you write the great American novel. Probably not, but it might keep you from feeling alone while you do it.

Let's start with the good day. On good days, I wake up with some kind of plan in place for the whole day, and nothing major happens to throw it off. I do yoga (badly, but I still do it), take care of my livestock, and write a blog post, finding something cool and unusual that I think someone out there in cyberland may enjoy reading. With a minimum of procrastination, I start on my main project for the day. Right now that's a dark romance, and it gets 1500 words. On these good days, that means about two hours of writing, solid. Then I grab lunch, work horses, and come back in for round two, wherein I put 1000 words on my secondary project, which at this moment is a fantasy novel. Then it's time for yet more chores, a home cooked dinner, housecleaning, editing, and some reading. Bear in mind, these are the good days, and they only  actually happen according to plan maybe once or twice per week.

Then there's the more normal days. I stayed up a little too late the night before, so the snooze button is overly attractive. I roll out of bed to do chores, only to discover I am out of cat food, necessitating a run to the store, which necessitates a shower and clean clothes. Much later than scheduled, I write my blog post, hoping it isn't as cheesy as it feels to me. Then I feed the livestock, and a little bummed by the lateness of the day spend an hour or so procrastinating by playing with ponies or baby goats. I drag myself inside with a stern lecture on productivity, and eat a sandwich while trying to churn out the required 1500 words on my main project. I rewrite the same paragraph five times, annoyed by how whiny one of the characters sounds. I consider killing him off, just because he's annoying me, only to remember that this is supposed to be a romance, and killing off the leading man is going to make that difficult as well as illegal. Four hours later, I emerge with the word count complete, and a headache. With time no longer on my side, I opt to only work two of the four horses I'm supposed to work, knowing I'll be paying for that later. Naturally, this takes longer than anticipated, and it's getting dark by the time I finish. I'm tired, dirty, hungry, and ready to call it a night, but there's still more chores that have to be done, dinner to cook, and that second project.

Chores have to come first, and the family expects to eat, so it's pretty late when I get to the second project. I want a thousand words, I do, and I try to get it, but sometimes I'm falling asleep in my chair and it's only three or four hundred words. I feel bad about it, but drag off to bed.

On the ugly end of the spectrum are the days that thankfully don't happen that often. I wake up with a migraine, or the flu. Maybe everything is fine when I wake up, only to discover a backed up sewer line, or a sick goat, or a downed fence, or a family member has an emergency. For whatever reason, my day has gone from planned to chaos, and it generally goes downhill from there. 

One of these days went something like this, though I've omitted the cursing in deference to your delicate sensibilities. I woke up an hour later than planned, having accidentally failed to set my alarm, and realize I have twenty minutes to meet a livestock buyer. Meeting is fifteen minutes from here. Shower at the speed of light, throw on clothes, catch and load animal they're buying, dash to meeting, arrive two minutes late. Ten minutes later, buyer texts to say they will be late. Wait at meeting spot for half an hour. Finally meet the buyer, they talk for another half an hour before I can escape. Buyer is a heavy smoker, and I'm allergic, migraine ensues. On the way home realize the red fuel light is on, rack brains trying to remember if it was on when I left. Truck sputters to a stop. Yes, I guess it was. Hike to the gas station, restart truck, fill tank. Finally get back home.

Livestock informs me that room service here sucks, I am late, and they aren't pleased. Feed livestock, water livestock, realize I still haven't taken anything for the migraine and it's getting worse. Drag self into house. Have migraine meds and diet soda for lunch. Finally sit down at the computer to write my blog post. Sucked into the internet wasteland. Realize I've just spent an hour looking at the people of WalMart and haven't written a word. Feel really bad about this, and very slow, in fact I feel like having a nice cry. Realize I haven't actually eaten yet today and it's after three. Have icecream because I'm depressed, even knowing it is going to kill my already critical blood sugar. Finally crank out the blog post, think it's crap, but at least its done.

Out of time to ride. Feel even more guilt.

Sit down to write on primary project, knowing the house isn't getting cleaned, and that I am not going to be cooking dinner tonight. Fifteen words into working, the in-laws call. Must be polite, despite the fact that the meds aren't working, my blood sugar has tanked, and I'm so far behind I can see my own pockets. Consider strongly bursting into tears. Get them off the phone an hour and a half later. Look at clock in disbelief. Go out to do chores. Realize I left the water running outside this morning, generating a huge mess and an even larger water bill. Horses have rolled in the mud and look like guilty children.  Stare blankly at thelarge goat on the front lawn, not sure why there is a full sized buck loose. Go get more feed, catch smelly and very affectionate buck, he rubs all over me on the way back to his pen, with one long pause to appreciate the pretty and way too young to breed daughters of his from last year. In case you didn't know, male goats urinate on themselves to attract girls, the stuff reeks and is really hard to get off, and they don't have any comprehension of  'too young' or 'too related'. Drag more than three hundred pounds of very excited stinky male goat the rest of the way to his pen, only to find he has completely destroyed his gate.

Too tired to actually fix the gate he's smashed, I pretty much tie the entire thing back together and head for the shower, having fantasies about an apartment, with a maid.

Swap diet coke for mixed drink. Husband comes home, takes one look at me, and orders a pizza. First good thing to happen all day. I try again on the writing thing, but he wants to talk. He's been so sweet, I don't want to ignore him, so we talk, then eat pizza. It is now ten at night, but I try again on the primary project. Two hundred words in, I give up and go to bed, knowing I have to do all this again tomorrow.

The point here is that everyone is going to have good days, normal days, and spawn of satan days. Guilt at not doing it "right" is often worse than the events of the day itself, at least for me. I have to step back and remember that even if all you got done was the two hundred words, in a year that is still well over 70,000 words. I might not survive a year of back to back days like that, but it does help to keep in mind that even if you didn't move forward the way you wanted to, every time you put a word on paper you still moved forward. Marathon when you can, baby steps when you have to.

Cheers,

Michelle