Make It Count

Mark Terry commented here on my blog the other day under the So You Want to Be a Writer post. Like many of Mark's comments, it was brilliant, so it got picked up over here, in its entirety on Stephen's blog as a post unto itself. And really? That ass in chair thing? True. To which I might add . . . make it count.

I write every day, sort of. I might write on my blog and then have my day explode into a cosmic clusterf*ck of Demon Baby exploits and nuclear destruction, chauffeuring duties for children, and overseing projects like Baby's Girl's French poster. Oh, and phone calls, laundry, dinner, and general cleaning up of mayhem caused by the very short little fellow who seems to believe that joy is exponentially related to how much mess you make--and he might well be right. But give the kid Play-do, and I will be combing it out of dog fur for weeks.

But . . . even if I don't write every day in the way that those without four kids or those whose kids are all in school write . . . there is a weekly output that is significant. At the end of the week, I have something to show for the fact that I write fiction. Pages, chapters, something.

Once a proposal or submission goes to my agent, the next "something" is already multiple chapters into writing. Has to be. I don't have time to ponder, I don't have time to fret over whether it will sell or not. I'm just too busy working.

And thus, after reading Mark's comments the other day, I realized that Demon Baby has taught me a lot of things. He has taught me the meaning of the word craptastic. He's taught me that most of the little aches and pains in life can be solved with a blue ice pop (but not red, pink or purple). But most of all, he has taught me to make it count. People with day jobs, if they are going to write fiction too--probably learn the same lesson . . . or fail. It's like any athlete who streamlines a workout, or musician who has their practice routine down to a science. Somewhere along the way, those who are successful learn that in any given workout or routine, there is x amount of time you can waste and then you better make it count. It's not just ass in chair, but what you are really doing in that chair that can make or break you. With each book or manuscript if you didn't learn what doomed the last one? Then you might as well sit in the chair and take a nap.

People ask me all the time, "How do you do it?" I don't. Not successfully. My house isn't neat, my laundry's not folded as of this writing, and there is a questionable bit of mold growing on some cheese in my fridge. But when I write, it counts. It has to. My life too easily blows up. Every minute of writing has to count. I've learned to separate the vanity of saying "I'm a writer" and thinking that I have time to meander my way through rewrite after rewrite after rewrite after big thought after big thought. And replace it with a working mentality. I have to make it count. Each day, every day, day in and day out, month after month, and gulp . . . year after year. My Writers' Cramp group has been in existence 15 years now. I've never (I don't think) missed a meeting. Maybe once or twice. But even after giving birth to the Demon . . . two weeks later, I was there, breastfeeding while critiquing. I've gone to group sick, tired, depressed, angry, fretful, happy, worried, REALLY tired (did I mention tired) and always . . . with pages.

So what are you doing to make it count each day? And if you need help, I will happily Fed Ex you the Demon Baby so that you, too, can learn to make it count.