a week in the life of a writer
iced oat lattes, gray summer days, and coming to the conclusion I really need to get back into my morning routine
I know I subtitled last week’s newsletter “finding my creative footing” but I have not, alas, found said footing. I’m still struggling to focus without the clear goal of a daily word count. Although I wonder if that’s not entirely to blame. I could also blame the bland to depressing weather this week or the fact that I’m experiencing some PMS symptoms.
But the conclusion I’ve come to is that I really need to get back into my morning routine that has me sitting at my desk by 9.30, cup of tea in hand, ready to focus. I’m convinced this would solve all my problems (while knowing that it will not, in fact, solve all my problems but it’s definitely going to be a focus next week).
This week, despite my routine struggles (pun intended), I made headway on a short story that I’ve been chipping away at on and off. One about obsession and summer and the sea. (I also need to start planning for draft two of the novel, because work on that starts next week.)
Monday
Starting the week off with a win — I’m the first one to the coffee shop for writing group. A first. I’m a morning person but so is (almost) everyone else in this writing group and also I live the furtherest away so I’m never the first person here. I feel smug about it in that way you feel smug about small things like that, things that don’t matter.
The coffee shop is quiet this early on a Monday morning, just me with my tea and a couple of guys in suits chatting quietly in a back corner. I start planning the week, savoring the productive feeling of a new week.
After that, I move on to working on a short story. I really should come up with some placeholder titles for these, this is a different short story from last week. I had two I wanted to work on while taking a break from my novel and this is the other one.
Tuesday
I get to spend the morning doing my least favorite thing in the entire world. Writing a cover letter for a job application. I cannot express just how awful I find it to write these things but I’m sure at least one of you gets it.
Heinous task over, I reward myself with miscellaneous chores. The sort of tidying up that feels nice. Cleaning the sink, loading the washer with dirty clothes, doing dishes. Meal prepping because I was gone this weekend. Running to picked up a Vinted package. Working out. Washing my hair. Finally sitting down to write in the late afternoon.
Working again on the short story, although most of my time is spent staring out the window trying to figure out what this story is. I’m trying and failing to pin down a neat and tidy summary, an answer to the question, “so, what’s it about?” I wonder if all this analysis is killing it. Maybe I just need to write the thing and see where it goes. Save this pondering for the second draft. Which is an odd thought because so frequently the problem I run into is that I haven’t planned enough before writing a story.
What I’m really afraid of is that there’s an obvious metaphor that’s going to be applied to this story and I don’t think I want it interpreted that way. I don’t think it’s about neurodivergence, even though that’s the first thing that’s going to come to the Internet’s mind (I can read minds, don’t you know).
Wednesday
A slow morning drinking coffee and reading Dan Simmons’s Hyperion. It’s our book club book this month and ironically, while I’m sitting here reading this morning the group chat is preemptively starting the discussion. Two things stand out to me: a) this is a retelling of the Canterbury Tales in space (I don’t why that puts me off because I’ve never read the Canterbury Tales but it does) and b) that it’s not really a stand alone book. Apparently, the publisher split Hyperion and Fall of Hyperion into two books for marketability.
None of this helps my own already beginning to be mixed feelings on the book. On the one hand, I love Dan Simmons’s world building in this book, it feels textured and layered and real. On the other, he’s veered into the territory he did in The Terror where he’s got this cardboard cutout of a woman who’s only around because sex. Needless to say, it’s off putting.
A walk. Sitting down at the desk to write. I’m trying something new this week in my quest to find a better starting ritual to my writing time. I heard someone say recently that you need to build time into your day to think. So I’m starting with what I’ve taken to calling the Thinking Exercise. It’s simple: 30 minutes of staring into space, just thinking. A notebook on hand to jot down thoughts and ideas, but no screens allowed.
It works. I suspect the magic is in giving my brain time to transition into work mode and not expecting instant brillant genius when I sit down at my desk. But the main point is that it works.
Thursday
I don’t want to leave the house today. It’s less in a wanting-to-remain-glued-to-the-couch way and more in I’m-getting-my-ass-out-the-door-on-time-but-I’m-not-happy-about-it way. I make the coffee, I leave for the walk. I even tempt the fates by not bringing an umbrella despite the dark clouds and the rain that was falling not twenty minutes ago.
The fates must be on my side today. It doesn’t rain. Even better, it’s cool and crisp, with just enough sunlight to be dramatic. I’ve left my headphones in my pocket for the first half of the walk because I’m calling this my “thinking exercise time” for the day. And halfway up my usual path, it starts to feel insanely good to be on a walk in nature with no headphones. To just listen to the rustle grass and look at the wildflowers blooming in abundance in the fields.
I always feel better when I get shit done in the mornings. I don’t need to be productive all day, just in the mornings.
Home, shower, get some social media stuff done, fall down the rabbit hole of scrolling.
Finally, in early afternoon, I peel myself off the couch, away from the patch of sunlight, to make tea and do the dishes, phone charging in the other room to force my brain out of scrolling mode.
Sitting down to write for the half hour I have left before I have to go run errands, I’m tempted to not bother because I have such little time. But there’s a video I saw the other day ringing in my ears, how it’s not about raw talent, it’s about putting in the work. So I put in the work.
Friday
It’s overcast today. Which in Northern Ireland should mean that it’s cold, but today the clouds are pressing hot, humid air down on me. It’s not a particularly pleasant day and I feel sluggish, struggling through the morning.
I drag myself out of the house and out to the coffee shop. This ritual looses some of its delight when the weather is bad and my mind is fuzzy.
I opt for an iced latte instead of matcha and the caffeine slowly brings me back to life.
I don’t do well in hot weather, in case you couldn’t tell. This could probably be its own post, but this is one of the first summers in my adult life that I’ve genuinely enjoyed the season. But that’s because Ireland when it’s sunny and in the low 70s (Fahrenheit) is glorious and will convert even the most cold-weather girl into a fan of summer.
Today reminds me of summer in Virginia, sticky, humid, oppressive. Unable to move outside without sweating. This is the summer I’m not a fan of.
It doesn’t help that most places here don’t have air conditioning. But there’s a breeze coming through the one window in the cafe that’s open and the ice is cooling off both my coffee and myself.
It’s time to get down to the business of writing.