There is maybe this idea that writers are these wise, creative creatures penning masterpieces by candlelight, or beside a flowing river, or overlooking a meadow, or huddled in the corner of a darkened pub.
At my book launch for The Girl with the Empty Suitcase, the question was asked me: How did I write my book (not the process, but the actual actions). Paper? Computers?
I'll tell you now what I answered.
I would love, love, love to say I had a classic, vintage typewriter, at a beautiful, large desk, bathed in light from a huge window.
But that isn't what happened.
I have a desk. It hold crafts, mostly.
I didn't use it to write The Girl with the Empty Suitcase.
And I'm not using it to write To Air the Laundry either.
All of that was the expectations: Poetry and beautify and all things profound.
Here is the reality:
Most of the time, when I go on big writing sprees, I'm not wearing flowy dresses (though I have them). Most of the time, I'm wearing a onesie, or pajamas, or sweatpants.
I wear onesies a lot.
Most of the time, I'm not writing while classical music plays in the background (though sometimes it is). Usually, I have a home decorating or renovating or cooking show playing in the background.
Most of the time, I'm not sitting at my desk. Usually, I'm sitting on my couch, my laptop on my lap or the folding table in front of me. My feet are up, slippers on, giant cup of coffee (or tea, or wine) sitting beside me.
I take too many breaks for snacks and social media and the black hole that is the Internet.
This book is even worse for time-usage, since there is some research involved for the 1960s setting; I once spent an hour looking for the name of a particular part of a record player. One hour for one word, that may even get cut in edits. Several hours have been spent collecting images of 1960s ovens, and chatting with people online about particular colours of ovens in 1962 vs. 1963 vs. 1964.
I spend a large quantity of my writing time second-guessing the words I've written, the characters I've created, the whole premise of the story. I spend just as much time critiquing it all.
I would like to say I spend a little time writing every day, since that is recommended for good writing practice. Get up, spend an hour writing every day. That's a great expectation.
Instead, I go on binges. I won't write for a week, or two, or more. Then I will spend hours writing, just throwing words onto the screen and seeing what sticks. It all depends on my work schedule, on what is going on in the school, on whether it is finals time or when I have committee meetings or parent issues or extracurricular commitments. Back to school or end of the year means no writing time. Report cards and when my classes have essays due, also means no writing.
Unless I'm procrastinating, of course.
Holidays and breaks means giant writing binges.
I self-edit as I go, then edit again when I'm stuck on what to say and how to say it.
There is no glamorous outpouring of sentiment. No profound descriptions, great moments of awe and clarity. There is smiling, and sometimes crying, and chuckling, and profanity.
That's the reality.
It's pretty fun. :)
What are your expectations about writing? I'd love to read your comments, below, and don't forget to subscribe to my monthly newsletter, via my contact page.