I'm hiding from my story.
I had all the best of intentions of working on it several times over the past few days. Really, I did.
Saturday, for example, I had my husband reserve me a room at his hotel so that I could go and be away from everything that would distract me. I stopped off and bought a coffee, set up the 'ol laptop and settled in for a few solid hours of productive writing.
Turns out that you can't really whip a muse if you can't find it in the first place.
After three hours, about a hundred trips to the bathroom (small bladder and large coffee, never wise) and only one page of a disjointed scene that may or may not even wind up in the draft when it's complete, I packed it in. Called my husband, told him to order in because I was coming home, hungry and defeated.
And then yesterday, an entire afternoon slipped through my fingers. Between bouncing my baby on my stomach and cooing and giggling, and of course cuddling and soothing our not-quite-himself-could-be-sick pre-schooler (ack, yes, he has graduated from toddler to pre-schooler), somehow it was kick-off and all attempts at writing, real or imagined, ceased.
Other places that I hid from my story? The shower, for one. I stood there, scalding my back (oooh, I so adore hot showers) and thinking earnestly about the family in the story - hashing out details and working my way through scenes, collecting bits to bring with me to the computer whenever time allowed. I convinced myself that this was productive, even though all those fantastic bits of well-thought out inspiration never found their way to the page.
And now, tonight, I've sat at the computer for the past hour and a half with 16 pages of an incomplete story staring at me - and I'm actually hiding from it. Checking up on friends in the blogosphere, browsing other (finished) stories, looking through strangers pictures up on Flickr - anything to keep my mind somewhat creative and engaged, but hardly productive.
My husband's going to be home from his basketball game any minute, and I'll click off the computer and settle in to cuddle on the couch for a few minutes before I fall asleep. And then tomorrow, we'll do it all over again.
T-minus three days until it needs to be in the mail.
I had all the best of intentions of working on it several times over the past few days. Really, I did.
Saturday, for example, I had my husband reserve me a room at his hotel so that I could go and be away from everything that would distract me. I stopped off and bought a coffee, set up the 'ol laptop and settled in for a few solid hours of productive writing.
Turns out that you can't really whip a muse if you can't find it in the first place.
After three hours, about a hundred trips to the bathroom (small bladder and large coffee, never wise) and only one page of a disjointed scene that may or may not even wind up in the draft when it's complete, I packed it in. Called my husband, told him to order in because I was coming home, hungry and defeated.
And then yesterday, an entire afternoon slipped through my fingers. Between bouncing my baby on my stomach and cooing and giggling, and of course cuddling and soothing our not-quite-himself-could-be-sick pre-schooler (ack, yes, he has graduated from toddler to pre-schooler), somehow it was kick-off and all attempts at writing, real or imagined, ceased.
Other places that I hid from my story? The shower, for one. I stood there, scalding my back (oooh, I so adore hot showers) and thinking earnestly about the family in the story - hashing out details and working my way through scenes, collecting bits to bring with me to the computer whenever time allowed. I convinced myself that this was productive, even though all those fantastic bits of well-thought out inspiration never found their way to the page.
And now, tonight, I've sat at the computer for the past hour and a half with 16 pages of an incomplete story staring at me - and I'm actually hiding from it. Checking up on friends in the blogosphere, browsing other (finished) stories, looking through strangers pictures up on Flickr - anything to keep my mind somewhat creative and engaged, but hardly productive.
My husband's going to be home from his basketball game any minute, and I'll click off the computer and settle in to cuddle on the couch for a few minutes before I fall asleep. And then tomorrow, we'll do it all over again.
T-minus three days until it needs to be in the mail.
Labels: Writing Life
4 Comments:
Write a letter from one character to another, about anything but what the story is about.
Mella, thanks so much for commenting on my blog! I'm adding you to my bloglines feed and will be back frequently. :)
Oh man, Mella, I totally saw your story in Starbucks this morning. I told it you were in the hospital, and it was all "Ohhhh...too bad."
Zhoen Excellent idea, thank you. I'll try anything at this point...
CindyThank you!
Novice Hehehehe, oh, how I love you.
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