on writing, and the lack of it
I have discovered the only time I get to write (or, really, feel the ability to write) is when I'm out of the house.
There is a certain constant level of expected interruption these days, where I cannot simply focus myself into a scene, or a story. There is always the knowledge that at any moment I'll hear a croaked call from the far-off bedroom and be required to abandon any muse, remove the 'writer's' hat, and put on the 'caregivers' hat. This constant changing of hats (which is more than the 'mothering' hat) has become quite a distraction of late. And not at all a welcome one.
See, I need music to jog the muse to my side. But the music does not let me hear when I'm needed, so I have to keep the music down low. Even if she were to use her cellphone to call the landline and I have the phone directly in front of me, there's no guarantee I'll see the flashing light of the call. As well, the phone's very presence presents an outlet for interruption. My eyes would constantly stray to the phone to see if I missed a call because I couldn't hear her otherwise. Eyes straying to phone means straying beyond a realm of creativity into a realm of responsibility. The two simply do not mesh at all in my mind. One dominates while the other slumbers. Simple as that.
I've gone to the YMCA two tuesdays in a row (for my daughter's babysitting course, and too sick to work out) and my laptop battery (there is no place to plug in my laptop, grr!) lasted a grand total of about an hour and a half if I was lucky. But, in that time I managed to add about 2,000 words to an original story I'm working on. And today I was at the YMCA (for my son's intro to free weights) and added probably 1,500 words to a fandom story that's mostly finished. (Yes, cold_poet it's the RENO-fic! And in the middle of the Y, with kids milling around me and able to glance over and read what I wrote, out came quite a horrid little scene as backstory. hee.)
Only once was I able to write something while at home. It was at 1am when I was quite tired and the story came out quite humourous and silly. About 1,500 words, and another 500 was added the next day although I had to force myself into that silly mood again so I could finish it. I feel it didn't quite meet up with the previous night's mental meanderings.
Even when I'm absent children (for whatever reason) and Marg is slumbering away noisily, I still feel that little niggling in the back of my mind of what if-- Like I can't let myself go (into a story) lest I get 'yanked' back to reality. My temper doesn't like it and tends to flare hotly beneath the skin until I'm clenching fists and cleaning like a mad woman just to divest myself of these frustrations. (Divest? Wow.)
I miss writing the afternoon away. But there are new responsibilities right now, like keeping the place clean at a level I've never experienced before. I need to keep up with the laundry, and the dishes, and the general upkeep of the place or Marg's mobility is severely limited. A person on a wheelchair should not have to "roll" over this, that and everything else in their own home! Even if she rarely gets out of bed, I at least should get into the habit, right?
You'd think I could, you know, do the housework in the morning, and then write in the afternoon, then prepare supper, eat, do dishes, settle Marg into bed for the night, and then, maybe, get in some more writing, right? Yeah, you'd think. But it doesn't work that way for me. I'm too addle-brained.
There is a certain constant level of expected interruption these days, where I cannot simply focus myself into a scene, or a story. There is always the knowledge that at any moment I'll hear a croaked call from the far-off bedroom and be required to abandon any muse, remove the 'writer's' hat, and put on the 'caregivers' hat. This constant changing of hats (which is more than the 'mothering' hat) has become quite a distraction of late. And not at all a welcome one.
See, I need music to jog the muse to my side. But the music does not let me hear when I'm needed, so I have to keep the music down low. Even if she were to use her cellphone to call the landline and I have the phone directly in front of me, there's no guarantee I'll see the flashing light of the call. As well, the phone's very presence presents an outlet for interruption. My eyes would constantly stray to the phone to see if I missed a call because I couldn't hear her otherwise. Eyes straying to phone means straying beyond a realm of creativity into a realm of responsibility. The two simply do not mesh at all in my mind. One dominates while the other slumbers. Simple as that.
I've gone to the YMCA two tuesdays in a row (for my daughter's babysitting course, and too sick to work out) and my laptop battery (there is no place to plug in my laptop, grr!) lasted a grand total of about an hour and a half if I was lucky. But, in that time I managed to add about 2,000 words to an original story I'm working on. And today I was at the YMCA (for my son's intro to free weights) and added probably 1,500 words to a fandom story that's mostly finished. (Yes, cold_poet it's the RENO-fic! And in the middle of the Y, with kids milling around me and able to glance over and read what I wrote, out came quite a horrid little scene as backstory. hee.)
Only once was I able to write something while at home. It was at 1am when I was quite tired and the story came out quite humourous and silly. About 1,500 words, and another 500 was added the next day although I had to force myself into that silly mood again so I could finish it. I feel it didn't quite meet up with the previous night's mental meanderings.
Even when I'm absent children (for whatever reason) and Marg is slumbering away noisily, I still feel that little niggling in the back of my mind of what if-- Like I can't let myself go (into a story) lest I get 'yanked' back to reality. My temper doesn't like it and tends to flare hotly beneath the skin until I'm clenching fists and cleaning like a mad woman just to divest myself of these frustrations. (Divest? Wow.)
I miss writing the afternoon away. But there are new responsibilities right now, like keeping the place clean at a level I've never experienced before. I need to keep up with the laundry, and the dishes, and the general upkeep of the place or Marg's mobility is severely limited. A person on a wheelchair should not have to "roll" over this, that and everything else in their own home! Even if she rarely gets out of bed, I at least should get into the habit, right?
You'd think I could, you know, do the housework in the morning, and then write in the afternoon, then prepare supper, eat, do dishes, settle Marg into bed for the night, and then, maybe, get in some more writing, right? Yeah, you'd think. But it doesn't work that way for me. I'm too addle-brained.