a week in the life of a writer
the third week of April and the run up to Easter
The weather played a big role this week in my life. I noticed as I was editing this to send it out that I kept commenting on the weather this week as I was writing the entires for each day. Last week, we had summer on our doorstep. 60 degrees Fahrenheit, sunny, not a cloud in the sky (which was the bit that bothered me, to be honest. It was weird not having any clouds in sight on this island). This week, the temperature dove back to normal for the time of year and the rain came back.
I’m getting back on track with finishing the first draft of my novel before June. I’m trying to hit 50k on this draft by the end of the month, which means I needed to write 1500 words a day this week. A tall order, for me. Stretching to the ends of my ability. But it gets done.
Monday
A jittery start to the week. My nervous system doesn’t know the difference between being chased by wolves and having to make a phone call. I needed to return a call from last week and the task haunts my morning. I go for a walk, make a tea, sit down to deal with some day-job-hunting tasks.
I make the phone call, returning a call from a recruiter, but have to leave a message. Now I’m stuck having to wait for him to call me back. I feel like I can’t get my full attention back, my full focus on anything.
I write the 1500 words I need to write in the afternoon but they feel like they come out of some sort of fever dream. I don’t go back and look at them. The only point of a first draft is to exist. Editing is for later.
Tuesday
I wake up feeling like maybe this cold was about to be a thing of the past. But then I go for a walk and do some Pilates and ended up feeling completely drained. Too much, too soon. But it was a hell of a walk.
Last week was an abnormally nice week for April here. It was 60+ degrees (Fahrenheit) every day and entirely sunny. Sun up to sun down, not a single cloud in the sky. Which, personally, I found a bit unnerving. There’s always clouds here, I live on the island of Ireland, we always have wind and clouds. They’re the two weather constants you can count on. But not last week.
I did enjoy the nice weather, went to a coffee shop for the first iced coffee of the season, it was nice. But then this morning I’m out for a walk, feeling the chill nip at my nose, the clouds floating across the sky and giving us that dramatic lighting that I love. And I feel like myself again. I am not a warm weather creature.
The walk was perfect, the at home Pilates workout courtesy of YouTube after was too much. I did drag myself to my desk after a shower and lunch. I write another 1500 words on the rough draft. I don’t do anything else today but I do that.
Wednesday
The day starts with a long, cold walk in the rain. It’s more pleasant than it sounds, I promise. The repetitive percussion of rain hitting the ground, the nip in the air. Moving my body in a way that feels good instead of draining for the first time in a week (since I got this cold that still hasn’t gone away).
After arrive home soaked to the bone but refreshed, I spend the morning on non-writing things. Do some Pilates, wash my hair. Write 1500 words on the rough draft. Finish reading Intermezzo by Sally Rooney in the afternoon while my partner is out on a bike ride.
Thursday
I start the day with a short walk than turns into a long one. No Pilates because I’ve got a yoga class booked for this evening.
After lunch, I head into town to go to the library. I stop in the park to get myself a fancy coffee from the coffee van, meant to be a treat. But the library is stuffed to the gills with people, after making a couple laps looking for a seat I have to take myself elsewhere.
And even after finding somewhere to sit with my tablet and my Bluetooth keyboard and my fancy coffee, I find that the words just aren’t coming.
Time to open my metaphorical tool bag for this sort of situation. Start a pomodoro timer, tell myself I can do nothing or I can write, no pressure for the first 25 minutes. I go back to my notebook, working by hand until the words come. And eventual, they arrive.
Friday
Good Friday has dawned cold and gray. The rain is threatening to start again any minute. I’m sitting at my desk with a cup of tea and a blanket over my legs to avoid putting on the heat because it’s April and we shouldn’t still need the heat. Wild to think that last week I was complaining (silently, to myself, I know better than to voice those thoughts to Irish people) about the sun.
It’s a bare minimum sort of day. I’m just trying to get the things done that have to be done. Easter has snuck up on me. So I crack open the Scrivener file with my novel and get to work. I’m really starting to get into this story, this rough draft is starting to go quickly. It only takes me an hour to write the 1500 words I needed to write today.
That done and out of the way, I finish up a couple of other random tasks, pack to go down to Donegal for the Easter holidays. It’s raining outside, again. Looks like it’s going to be a quiet and cozy Easter weekend.
Happy Easter to everyone celebrating, I’ll talk to you next week.