A Week In the Life of An Aspiring Author

Lots of thoughts on process this week

I almost subtitled this episode “end of the world edition” but decided that was a bit dramatic. But it is the start of a dark time for the US.

Sunday

This was a more normal Sunday. Most of the day was taken up with grocery shopping and meal prepping. And football - since it’s that time of the year (Go, Pack, Go).

Sometimes I get really into a football game and other times it’s just enough to let that creative part of my brain start flowing. Driving, walking, watching football games, are all the most creative moments. I even had an idea for a new story.

It went into the Notes folder where all those ideas live until I can give them more time and attention. Dormant, both in my phone and my brain, like seeds beginning to germinate.

It’s a bit early to be thinking about next year and goal setting, but I already know what one of the goals I’ll be setting is. I really want to write more of these stories, to get them out on the page. I’m also still thinking about what an editor said in a workshop I went to a couple weeks ago about writing being energetic.

So my new goal/direction is writing more short stories, starting with two a month. And I mean two drafts of fresh, new stories. In addition to editing old drafts. It’s a process akin to processes like making whiskey. You make a batch, barrel it, let it sit, then while it cures come back and make another one. This might be unique to me as a writer, I think some people can just spit things out, but my stories need time more than they need anything else. Time to germinate. Time to sit between drafts.

Monday

Speaking of writing new stories, on Monday I wrote a new short story. I also realized something interesting: I can’t write a whole story in one go. I had a big, blank space of time on Monday and my only goal was to write Draft 1 of this specific story.

I found that once I’d completed a chunk of the story, gotten to the next plot point, my thoughts were simply done and that was it. I had to go do something else — scroll, move to a new place to work, eat lunch, go read, worry about the election — for at least 20-30 minutes before I was “allowed” to work on the story again.

So I suppose there’s something to be said for writing in those little chunks you get each day. It may just be that writing isn’t something you can sit and do for hours. At least not the typing on the page bit of it.

Because sometimes it is necessary to just set timers and stare out the window until your creativity comes back again. If I only wrote when I felt like it, I would write stories but I would do it very, very slowly.

It’s also possible that I’m not used to such large chunks of writing time and this a muscle that has to be trained like any other.

Tuesday

Tuesday was full of nervous energy, bouncing around trying to focus with the election coverage on in the background too early to be helpful. Somehow, I did eke out a tiny bit of writing, spending a little bit of time working on the structure of my sci-fi novel.

Wednesday

Grieved.

Thursday

Life went on.

And to be honest, Thursday was a nice little day. I went to a very cool art installation and also it was bookclub day.

Belfast has an amazing art scene and the International Arts Festival is currently on so the art scene is *chef’s kiss* at the moment. In addition to an amazing art scene, Belfast also has a glut of amazing architecture. A cabbie told me once that it was because while the rest of the UK was “renovating” all their cool old buildings, Northern Ireland was busy with the Troubles. One of those buildings is the old Bank of Ireland building and it has a carving of Medusa’s head above the main door, looking out over one of the main avenues of the city.

A local poet was inspired by the carving and wrote an incredible poem twining together the myth of Medusa with the history of Belfast as viewed by that carving on the bank building. As part of the arts festival, the poem was recorded and played in an inflated dome while illustrations played across the interior of the dome.

I went at a quieter moment so it was just me and three other people laying on the ground watching this video play across the ceiling. Calling it a video doesn’t feel adequate. It was total immersion into the world of this poem, completely cocooned within its reality.

I loved it.

Thursday was also my monthly sci-fi bookclub. We read Rendezvous with Rama for this month’s meeting, a sci-fi book from the 1970s about a mysterious astroid that turns out to be an alien ship. Arthur C. Clarke really is a classic sci-fi master. The general consensus at book club was that the book was good, but not great. Which I get, it’s the sort of classic sci-fi where nothing really bad happens and the ideas are more important than the characters. But that can be its own sort of delightful and Rendezvous with Rama definitely is.

We all went out to the pub after bookclub and that was also its own sort of delightful.

Friday

Friday was a non-writing life day. I try to spend time writing even on days when I needed to spend most of my time on other things. And yet, it doesn’t always happen.

Saturday

And now we’re here, on a gray Saturday morning in November. I’ve got a little bit more time to sit here at my desk and enjoy the rest of my morning cup of coffee, so I’m going to leave you here and get a bit of a writing done.