I am, by nature, extremely organized. I love making lists. I love slashing my way through item after item of to-do’s and need-to-be-done’s. I have left every business I have ever worked for a more streamlined and efficient place. This superb track record starts falling apart in one very important area: my hollow, sorry excuse of a writing routine. I have, at my handy disposal, a lame set of reasons why it is so erratic. Let’s investigate these.

1. I am not a morning person. I do realize that there is no pesky by-law of the writing code that says one must practice their craft in the a.m. Yet, so many writers choose the early hours of the day for their writing time. Day in and day out, they rise at disturbingly wee hours of the clock. I am not certain that I would have a fully functioning brain at, say, 5. Methinks that I would probably be a nasty, flaming bitch– especially pre-pot of tea. Wordsmiths who are up and stringing together brilliant phrases before dawn just seem so dedicated and professional. Meanwhile, back at the loft, all I am interested in doing is rolling over and catching more not-strictly-necessary sleep.
2. I currently work 9 hour days, 10 if you throw in the commute. By the time I hobble through the door, drop my purse, fling my keys, walk the dog and put the kettle on, it is early evening. If I connect to the drug known as the Internet and DO NOT IMMEDIATELY BEGIN WRITING, then I easily lose another hour. At this point, it is 7 p.m. I most likely have ‘The Golden Girls’ on in the background. Those witty old ladies have been known to suck me in to their hyper-social sun-baked lives for endless episodes. Hello, 8. It is so nice to see you. I am sure that you get the idea. On a good work night, I can write 3 blog posts, edit my upcoming ‘zine, and write a paragraph or two of fiction. Then there are the other 4.
3. If The Chef has the night off, then forget about it. I try to make my time off coincide with his schedule as 1)he insists that I not write 12 hours a day, 7 days a week and 2) it is too damn difficult to write with him in the flat. He talks back to the television. He strikes up conversations with me even when I am in the writing zone. He insists that I get up and move around, that I eat dinner….nothing of value gets done on these nights, creatively-speaking. This kills up to 2 nights a week.
4. Ah, weekends! Bliss! Sleeping in! Laziness! Socializing! Practicality: laundry, sweeping, cleaning counter tops and sinks. I have way too much to cram into 2 days/nights. Sometimes, I am a writing dynamo on Saturday and Sunday. I accomplish insane amounts of work. I am proud of myself. Then, on Monday, it is back to the same grind.

What, then, is a writer to do if she is in an especially fertile period? Right now, I am doing more projects than ever. I have blogs, the ‘zine, a fictional serial and a rocking short story. I also have to network myself and market my product–all while managing this thing called a life. Everything that I am doing at this time is too good to be sacrificed or sold short. The only viable solution is to impose some kind of order on those things that can benefit most from it, including my writing schedule. I plan on trying a few different routines until I find the one that best fits my needs. First up? I am about to become one of those early risers.

I am not looking forward to this. I will never greet the morning with anything but a series of yawns and a sour look on my face. I do not believe that being genuinely perky or even nice is ever fully possible before 10 a.m. (2 hours into my regular work day). I hate being the first one out of bed: jealousy will abound against the sleeping one. Yet, I am game because–if it works–my writing will benefit immensely. I am also not talking about falling out of bed 2 hours early. No, I am starting with a quite doable 45 minutes which, taking into account making tea and rousing my mind, should leave approximately 30 minutes to write. I have attempted this sort of thing on 3 previous occasions, but for different reasons. None were a resounding success.

The first two times involved “The Artists Way” by Julia Cameron. If you have ever followed that program, you already know what it is I am talking about. Essentially, you get up early and write your thoughts, stream-of-conscious-style, for 3 pages. My first attempt at this, some dozen years ago, lasted a few weeks. The second go-round, circa 2004, lasted approximately 5 minutes. The third time involved the lovely Gala Darling of ‘ICING’ which is a delectable, Technicolor dream of a blog. She ran a challenge group for the entire month of February. It was up to you to decide what you wanted to change/improve in your own life. She simply provided a forum and support. I decided to better my sloth-like sleeping habits and rise early, which I did for about 3 days. It was easier than I thought it would be! I was actually awake by the time that I arrived at work! Then, woe is me, I took a temporary second job. At night. End of story.

I have faith in myself and my considerable self-discipline abilities that I can make this work. The real question is….what type of writing do I devote this precious daily half-hour to? Should I blog or write fiction? Should I write or edit articles for the ‘zine? I think that I am going to try a day or two of each, and see which fits.

The beauty and the bane of the writing life is that so much of it is for you to set, form and control. You have to determine your own parameters and crack your own whip. Ultimately, no one else really cares if you write or not. It is, then, a matter of self-respect: if you value your ability and voice, then you will give it the appropriate place in your life.

What is your routine? How closely do you follow it? Has your writing benefited from it?

There is one plaintive refrain common, with scant variation, to all writers, and it goes something like this: committing words to the blank page is painfully difficult, endless, and frustrating. No one is immune. It never gets easier. It never fades. It cannot, cannot be conquered–no matter how diligently or long you practice the craft. This is not that phantom known as “writer’s block”, which is usually ephemeral. This difficulty is just one of the many threads that are woven into the writing life, though it is particularly tensile. It is omnipresent , like breath: when you are most deeply involved in the life of your words, it fades into the background.

The blank page holds up terror and promise in equal portions. The mystery behind the process is opaque–no one ever really figures out its source, or unravels the magic of its drive. Words and ideas mix, we pick and choose which fit best, we invent our own rhythm. I am convinced that not knowing the root origin of our ability is where the terror comes from. Just because you have done something once, does not mean that you can expect to do it again. Yet, you always, always do. The gift is never sucked dry…though the very thought of that possibility can keep you up nights.

Facing a version of this every time that you sit down to write can, after awhile, be quite tiresome. Writing is a draining craft (fortunately it has an upside full of more intangible rewards than nearly anything else on earth). Sometimes, it is easier or more desirable to do anything other than put words to paper. Walk the dog? Drink a pot of coffee while doing a crossword puzzle (hey, you could learn a new word or fact that way)? Watch a marathon of Judge shows on television? Fold laundry? Daydream about how famous and esteemed you will be one day, after you have finished your next novel or short story collection?

This latter trap is ominous and gaping–to such a degree that, if you are not careful, can turn a temporary break from writing into a permanent one. Writers are, of course, an imaginary lot. We are dreamers. We are exceptionally gifted at crafting fictional worlds, alternate universes, and fantastical events. It can be all too easy to drift into these mind-places, these other states of being. Staying focused when there is no one standing over you demanding that things get done is immensely difficult, even if your level of self-discipline is higher than most. You are your own worst critic and come equipped with an instinct that only you possess. This is not enough: you must also be your own boss. You are the only one with the clout to lay down rules and goals, and make sure that they are followed.
A gift for imagination, words and plot is, of course, an essential part of any writer’s tool-kit. However, you must also arm yourself with the grit and wherewithal to stick to it through everything that is thrown across your path: boredom, laziness, confusion and doubt. This is often the only difference between a successful writer and a floundering one.