I found that insomnia can be put to productive use. I lie there at 3:00 a.m. and ponder theme, plot and characterization. Much better than dwelling on regrets. Or I can use it for a character who has them. I couldn’t really be expected to be doing anything else at that time, and no one is likely to interrupt me. The only downside is that it is the most effective sleep remedy ever, but sometimes a deep dive into a character leads to creative and insightful dreams.
I have not found any sort of balance yet! I work full time and have a 5 year old and almost 2 year old. The younger one only goes to daycare two days a week, so I'm constantly juggling. Then I'm trying to carve out exercise time for mental health plus continue building my marriage plus being there for the kids plus house maintenance 😵💫. I am nowhere near a groove of carving time to write, but I loved your social media suggestion!
Oh my… your words evoke VIVID MEMORIES! From this 59 year old: (and for what my opinion is worth!) YES to taking care of exercising for mental/emotional health. YES to marriage-building. YES to focus on the kids—you’ll never have a do-over with them. But you can write and re-write in the times to come.
One thought this brings to my mind though—amongst others—is how in those years I almost always focused on longer works. (I see you write both long and short!) It went against the grain of what others were saying at the time… there was an idea floating about—is it still?—that the reason women writers in the past have focused on poetry and short fiction is that their time was limited (where do we get these ideas?!) and their lives were more amenable to the creating of short works.
In my life, I’ve found exactly the opposite. Once “inside” a novel, it’s not something I need to think through each day: the fictional world is created, I’m going to be with the characters for months, if not years! And I need only to pop in and out-hopefully daily or something close. It can be for thirty minutes or two hours. I “save time” in not having to re-situate myself for yet another short piece.
Of course, everyone is so different!
Others might find writing poetry to work well. We can carry it on us, poke at the lines, mull. Complete. Return…
The thought of the sheer amount of time invested in a long work can be a deterrent. (Ah, but one should never think about this too soon in the process!)
I DO wish I’d carved out more time for notes in my journal! Those years pass quickly, even if they feel to be long at the time. Even to take stock of what such a day is—in thorough review—a couple times a year. You'll use such notes over and over in the times to come.
Thank you for sharing this, Heather--good to talk about these things.
I also enjoyed looking at your newsletter, and will re-visit for closer reads!
Thank you for your wisdom!!! That's why your post resonated with me because I used to be a late night writer...until kids. And I've limited myself for a decade thinking, "if I don't have 4 hours, headphones, and bottomless coffee, I can't write." But taking baby steps and finding pockets is a habit I need to start. Especially since I have two novels technically complete but in need of MAJOR rework since it's been years since I wrote them.
I tried so many things when finding writing time with toddlers. Get up early. Suddenly, gentle footsteps on stairs. Their Mommy antennae found me out. Let them loose to get their own breakfast the most effective: they pulled yogurt containers out of "their" cupboard, put them on floor, filled them to the top with cereal, added milk, and had a fine time. Mess to clean up afterwards, but they felt independent and I got a few minutes in.
Great advice! I was doing okay on the early bit until my youngest started waking up throughout the night again, plus it got chilly. Who wants to get out of bed early when it's cold?!
And some thoughts by an Unschool reader-writer who wants to be Anonymous:
What do I need to write:
Like everyone I need time to write. I need uninterrupted time for novels, hours with no commitment. No commitment at all is best.
Now that I'm retired I have that time. I have the drafts to complete, the ideas to flesh out, the demand from my daughter to write my memoir, titled "Malfunction Junction." I have the decades of journals to draw from.
I am not writing much.
What I also need, and that I have not gotten in 17 years of living in this corporate, conservative city where I have almost no social life, is people inspiration. The laughs, the wonder, the marvel in discovering what's beneath the surface of proper lives.
The old woman who needed to be rescued when her bathtub, with her in it, fell through the bathroom floor to the kitchen below.
The story of the woman with a new boyfriend who tried to get a real estate agent to NOT sell a house to the old girlfriend with whom her new boyfriend had had one of his many children.
Speaking of that boyfriend, the story of a pregnancy he refused to recognize, so the woman bought a t-shirt that she wore as she walked down the main street in this small town: Bobby's Baby with an arrow pointing to her pregnant belly.
The ex-husband of a self-proclaimed very proper lady who was rumoured to have his housekeeper do her housework in the nude.
I need to see people in all their tapestried glory, to delight in and love their human foibles. What pain, ego, fear, greed drives us to do.
The city in which I must live does not understand my dry humour and I don't see any sense of humour at all in many of them, and so, along with my sad financial circumstances which means I can't join in, I have almost no social life. I've been involved in many activities and groups, met many perfectly fine people, but have not forged connections with any enough to see what lies beneath the surface.
Until I find that spark, that fizz, much of my writing will lie dormant.
So many stories here, though. Wild and amazing images, you've heard and evoked.
cyberwyrd says we have to "make" the spark. And that's true. I think too that it's tough to work in vacuum.
My writing days are long, and I need to go out and hear live music. I need to walk. I need to talk with others... and then go back to the solitary work.
How do we deal with "balance"? How do we deal with ever-present worries... finances, loneliness, and more...
Are there times words come more easily? And other times they come not at all? Questions for all.
I’m probably hijacking Alison’s thread, but I’m waiting for a @#$%&* casserole to finish cooking and the devil finds work for idle hands. That spark is what we as writers have to MAKE. What kind of person would the boyfriend have to be? What made him that way? How does he feel about it? Do all his exes react in the same way? Do they ever get together and compare notes?
Pressure him to relocate to a Muslim country and convert so they can all have a piece of him? And then elect a shop steward? Just being cheeky… I’ve been slogging away at a Serious Novel all day and I think my brain has got the bends.
Over 60 here, and grateful to have time and peace in which to work, more or less. I'm still employed full time and am probably involved in too many unpaid side gigs that have a way of chipping away at both of those writing necessities. But it's not like trying to work with youngsters about, unless we count my husband as a youngster. I do, sometimes, have to ask him to stop chatting at me. 😅
I probably need more discipline. I have a lifelong habit of waiting until the last minute for lots of deadlines, writing included. I'm dedicated, and not apt to blow any commitments off, but I'll stay up half the night getting it done. That's not good for my physical or mental health, generally, and certainly not on a weekly basis. On the other hand, it's predictable and I've done it most of my life (not necessarily the weekly part), so maybe it's just who/how I am.
I saw the photo and this little beginning popped in my head. I'm experimenting with dictating into my Word app on my Ipad. Trying to see if that will increase my writing since I am a terrible typist and write everything in cursive. This is the spark of a story that may burst into something or just fizzle. It matters not.
The Red Umbrella
Pamela liked to view the world, upside down, bent over, gazing through the pleats of her skirt, past the columns of her bare legs to the world beyond. It was less scary that way. She learned to do it when her parents’ pent-up anger would explode. Upside down, the red faces did not seem so fierce, and as the blood rushed to her head, the pulse in her ears would drown out the yelling. Especially her mother’s, as her shrill voice would dominate the argument until father would haul off and cuff her.
That’s what he used to call it when he came to her room later to tuck her in.
“Don’t worry Pam, “he’d say. “I just cuffed her. I didn’t hurt her. But she had to snap out of it. She was going stiff with hysteria.” By that he meant twisting her hands in a bizarre, spastic, circular motion as she stretched her arms, stiff back and low behind her body and pushed her fingers straight out to pose all rigid. It resembled someone taking a swan dive into a pool for the first time.
By looking between her legs, everything was just different and not as threatening. That’s why she still did it today when things got weird. She was more subtle about it, as an adult, she’d place her hands in exhaustion down on the table and drop her head between her arms to peer sideways under her elbows at the world. Still, when things got truly strange, she would drop something on the floor as an excuse to bend over and let her hair tumble down and tug at her scalp like she was getting a massage and for a moment, she would stare past her shapely black yoga pant clad legs at the insane antics of the world beyond.
Today it was to look through the rain, splattered glass of the coffee shop at the red umbrella that was traveling down the sidewalk straight at her. She squeezed her face to make the blood rush harder, because the person carrying the umbrella was someone, she had not seen for 15 years—her mother.
Al! As your work does, this pulls me in right away. An individual finding her own unique way to deal-with. In little more than 4 paragraphs... The line about the pulse in her ears drowning out the sounds... very good. I'm there. This is what Mary Karr calls "carnality"--the physicality of a story. Palpable.
One word stops me, and that is "shapely"; why am I not buying that Pamela would describe herself this way? And even though it's third person, I'm so close to her as reader that I'm hearing the "shapely" as her voice.
Alison - thanks for the comments “carnality” and Mary Karr are 2 items I will need to research. I debated “shapely” and was about to cut it. Should I have cut it or left it in. I am not sure if you liked it or not.
I'm not buying it in her voice, from her thoughts. And she does feel to be the viewpoint character, third person or not. I think the fact that you had some internal debate around it says something... it usually does!
Mary Karr's book on memoir writing is about writing nonfiction, but there is so much that is rich and useful in it--do check it out!
Thank you very kindly for the shoutout.
Thank you for being here, David!
I found that insomnia can be put to productive use. I lie there at 3:00 a.m. and ponder theme, plot and characterization. Much better than dwelling on regrets. Or I can use it for a character who has them. I couldn’t really be expected to be doing anything else at that time, and no one is likely to interrupt me. The only downside is that it is the most effective sleep remedy ever, but sometimes a deep dive into a character leads to creative and insightful dreams.
Oh, such truth and reality here! So glad you brought this up. YES.
Key, too, to rouse one's self to take notes at such times.
Thank you for this!
I have not found any sort of balance yet! I work full time and have a 5 year old and almost 2 year old. The younger one only goes to daycare two days a week, so I'm constantly juggling. Then I'm trying to carve out exercise time for mental health plus continue building my marriage plus being there for the kids plus house maintenance 😵💫. I am nowhere near a groove of carving time to write, but I loved your social media suggestion!
Oh my… your words evoke VIVID MEMORIES! From this 59 year old: (and for what my opinion is worth!) YES to taking care of exercising for mental/emotional health. YES to marriage-building. YES to focus on the kids—you’ll never have a do-over with them. But you can write and re-write in the times to come.
One thought this brings to my mind though—amongst others—is how in those years I almost always focused on longer works. (I see you write both long and short!) It went against the grain of what others were saying at the time… there was an idea floating about—is it still?—that the reason women writers in the past have focused on poetry and short fiction is that their time was limited (where do we get these ideas?!) and their lives were more amenable to the creating of short works.
In my life, I’ve found exactly the opposite. Once “inside” a novel, it’s not something I need to think through each day: the fictional world is created, I’m going to be with the characters for months, if not years! And I need only to pop in and out-hopefully daily or something close. It can be for thirty minutes or two hours. I “save time” in not having to re-situate myself for yet another short piece.
Of course, everyone is so different!
Others might find writing poetry to work well. We can carry it on us, poke at the lines, mull. Complete. Return…
The thought of the sheer amount of time invested in a long work can be a deterrent. (Ah, but one should never think about this too soon in the process!)
I DO wish I’d carved out more time for notes in my journal! Those years pass quickly, even if they feel to be long at the time. Even to take stock of what such a day is—in thorough review—a couple times a year. You'll use such notes over and over in the times to come.
Thank you for sharing this, Heather--good to talk about these things.
I also enjoyed looking at your newsletter, and will re-visit for closer reads!
Thank you for your wisdom!!! That's why your post resonated with me because I used to be a late night writer...until kids. And I've limited myself for a decade thinking, "if I don't have 4 hours, headphones, and bottomless coffee, I can't write." But taking baby steps and finding pockets is a habit I need to start. Especially since I have two novels technically complete but in need of MAJOR rework since it's been years since I wrote them.
I tried so many things when finding writing time with toddlers. Get up early. Suddenly, gentle footsteps on stairs. Their Mommy antennae found me out. Let them loose to get their own breakfast the most effective: they pulled yogurt containers out of "their" cupboard, put them on floor, filled them to the top with cereal, added milk, and had a fine time. Mess to clean up afterwards, but they felt independent and I got a few minutes in.
Great advice! I was doing okay on the early bit until my youngest started waking up throughout the night again, plus it got chilly. Who wants to get out of bed early when it's cold?!
Love this image of the kids getting up to create their own breakfast!
And some thoughts by an Unschool reader-writer who wants to be Anonymous:
What do I need to write:
Like everyone I need time to write. I need uninterrupted time for novels, hours with no commitment. No commitment at all is best.
Now that I'm retired I have that time. I have the drafts to complete, the ideas to flesh out, the demand from my daughter to write my memoir, titled "Malfunction Junction." I have the decades of journals to draw from.
I am not writing much.
What I also need, and that I have not gotten in 17 years of living in this corporate, conservative city where I have almost no social life, is people inspiration. The laughs, the wonder, the marvel in discovering what's beneath the surface of proper lives.
The old woman who needed to be rescued when her bathtub, with her in it, fell through the bathroom floor to the kitchen below.
The story of the woman with a new boyfriend who tried to get a real estate agent to NOT sell a house to the old girlfriend with whom her new boyfriend had had one of his many children.
Speaking of that boyfriend, the story of a pregnancy he refused to recognize, so the woman bought a t-shirt that she wore as she walked down the main street in this small town: Bobby's Baby with an arrow pointing to her pregnant belly.
The ex-husband of a self-proclaimed very proper lady who was rumoured to have his housekeeper do her housework in the nude.
I need to see people in all their tapestried glory, to delight in and love their human foibles. What pain, ego, fear, greed drives us to do.
The city in which I must live does not understand my dry humour and I don't see any sense of humour at all in many of them, and so, along with my sad financial circumstances which means I can't join in, I have almost no social life. I've been involved in many activities and groups, met many perfectly fine people, but have not forged connections with any enough to see what lies beneath the surface.
Until I find that spark, that fizz, much of my writing will lie dormant.
So many stories here, though. Wild and amazing images, you've heard and evoked.
cyberwyrd says we have to "make" the spark. And that's true. I think too that it's tough to work in vacuum.
My writing days are long, and I need to go out and hear live music. I need to walk. I need to talk with others... and then go back to the solitary work.
How do we deal with "balance"? How do we deal with ever-present worries... finances, loneliness, and more...
Are there times words come more easily? And other times they come not at all? Questions for all.
I’m probably hijacking Alison’s thread, but I’m waiting for a @#$%&* casserole to finish cooking and the devil finds work for idle hands. That spark is what we as writers have to MAKE. What kind of person would the boyfriend have to be? What made him that way? How does he feel about it? Do all his exes react in the same way? Do they ever get together and compare notes?
There is no hijacking here!
"Do they get together and compare notes"--there's a scene. What do they do after that...?
Pressure him to relocate to a Muslim country and convert so they can all have a piece of him? And then elect a shop steward? Just being cheeky… I’ve been slogging away at a Serious Novel all day and I think my brain has got the bends.
"Serious Novel" will do that...!
Over 60 here, and grateful to have time and peace in which to work, more or less. I'm still employed full time and am probably involved in too many unpaid side gigs that have a way of chipping away at both of those writing necessities. But it's not like trying to work with youngsters about, unless we count my husband as a youngster. I do, sometimes, have to ask him to stop chatting at me. 😅
I probably need more discipline. I have a lifelong habit of waiting until the last minute for lots of deadlines, writing included. I'm dedicated, and not apt to blow any commitments off, but I'll stay up half the night getting it done. That's not good for my physical or mental health, generally, and certainly not on a weekly basis. On the other hand, it's predictable and I've done it most of my life (not necessarily the weekly part), so maybe it's just who/how I am.
Red shoes... thinking...
I saw the photo and this little beginning popped in my head. I'm experimenting with dictating into my Word app on my Ipad. Trying to see if that will increase my writing since I am a terrible typist and write everything in cursive. This is the spark of a story that may burst into something or just fizzle. It matters not.
The Red Umbrella
Pamela liked to view the world, upside down, bent over, gazing through the pleats of her skirt, past the columns of her bare legs to the world beyond. It was less scary that way. She learned to do it when her parents’ pent-up anger would explode. Upside down, the red faces did not seem so fierce, and as the blood rushed to her head, the pulse in her ears would drown out the yelling. Especially her mother’s, as her shrill voice would dominate the argument until father would haul off and cuff her.
That’s what he used to call it when he came to her room later to tuck her in.
“Don’t worry Pam, “he’d say. “I just cuffed her. I didn’t hurt her. But she had to snap out of it. She was going stiff with hysteria.” By that he meant twisting her hands in a bizarre, spastic, circular motion as she stretched her arms, stiff back and low behind her body and pushed her fingers straight out to pose all rigid. It resembled someone taking a swan dive into a pool for the first time.
By looking between her legs, everything was just different and not as threatening. That’s why she still did it today when things got weird. She was more subtle about it, as an adult, she’d place her hands in exhaustion down on the table and drop her head between her arms to peer sideways under her elbows at the world. Still, when things got truly strange, she would drop something on the floor as an excuse to bend over and let her hair tumble down and tug at her scalp like she was getting a massage and for a moment, she would stare past her shapely black yoga pant clad legs at the insane antics of the world beyond.
Today it was to look through the rain, splattered glass of the coffee shop at the red umbrella that was traveling down the sidewalk straight at her. She squeezed her face to make the blood rush harder, because the person carrying the umbrella was someone, she had not seen for 15 years—her mother.
Al! As your work does, this pulls me in right away. An individual finding her own unique way to deal-with. In little more than 4 paragraphs... The line about the pulse in her ears drowning out the sounds... very good. I'm there. This is what Mary Karr calls "carnality"--the physicality of a story. Palpable.
One word stops me, and that is "shapely"; why am I not buying that Pamela would describe herself this way? And even though it's third person, I'm so close to her as reader that I'm hearing the "shapely" as her voice.
Fifteen years... is a long time!
Thanks for posting--
Alison - thanks for the comments “carnality” and Mary Karr are 2 items I will need to research. I debated “shapely” and was about to cut it. Should I have cut it or left it in. I am not sure if you liked it or not.
I'm not buying it in her voice, from her thoughts. And she does feel to be the viewpoint character, third person or not. I think the fact that you had some internal debate around it says something... it usually does!
Mary Karr's book on memoir writing is about writing nonfiction, but there is so much that is rich and useful in it--do check it out!