Happy Sunday, friends.
I was up late last night, unable to sleep for unfathomable reasons, emailing with a friend who was also unable to sleep (though she’d had a cup of coffee at 9, so at least she had an excuse.) In the quiet darkness, the cats snuggled in my legs, my husband sound asleep beside me, my brain decided to kick into gear and gave me three scenes for a story I’m working on. I am nothing if not respectful of my muse, so I broke off the conversation and sent myself notes. And then I laid there, remembering the night I dreamed the entire plot of ALL THE PRETTY GIRLS. I woke from this crazy nightmare, went to my office, filled thirteen pages in a spiral topped reporter’s notebook, then went back to sleep. There’s only one difference in the final book from that initial swath of fevered, mid-night thought: a character I wrote out because things were getting too complicated. I think he came back to life in a later story, but I’d have to check.
After 14 months of pushing hard on a book that didn’t want to do what I wanted it to do, this moment of flow feels like such a blessing. Even though it came in the middle of the night, even though I lost several hours of sleep before and after and I have a headache and the yawns now, it tells me my brain is finally, finally healing from the double surgeries last year. When I first started out, middle of the night ideas were my life’s blood. They haven’t been happening as often lately. Hell, they haven’t been happening at all. So I’ve taken as much advantage of the quarantine as humanely possible in order to give myself grace and space. I have leaned in. I have taken advantage of my natural introversion to create a cocoon of creativity and small joys.
And I have paid close attention to how people I respect are handling themselves. One friend is getting up at 5:30 am to work. Another is on a major daily yoga kick before she writes. Another is writing whilst schooling multiple teenagers, and yet another editing whilst managing both toddlers and a move out of state. Another has a full-time job and is writing and handling a family. Another hasn’t changed schedules at all, writing in the morning, exercising in the afternoon. Another committed to, and has stuck with, writing 500 words a day.
There is one thing they all have in common. They are working. They are writing through this. Nora Roberts once said to surround yourself with people you respect, who you can trust, who are aligned with your ethos and work ethic. I took that to heart. Now, when times have gotten so incredibly hard for us all, the residents of my virtual Montparnasse are plugging away. So are a lot of writers of my acquaintance. When I first started out in publishing, it wasn’t unusual for top writers to have multiple books a year. I think that time is upon us again. Being able to write in the time of COVID is going to be lucrative.
Don’t think I’m ragging on writers who aren’t writing now. See above: I just spent 14 months on my last book; drafting a novel usually takes me 4 months. The new dynamic of having children at home, the sheer stress of the massive uncertainties about the Fall, the quicksand we’re trying to navigate — the election, the virus, schools, social upheaval — this is a terrible environment for creative thought.
What I’m saying is, find your people. Find and surround yourself with creatives who will try to stick to habits and work times, who will email with you in the middle of the night, who will lean in with you, hold you together when you need to fall apart. Find the ones who will cheer your successes, not tear them down.
And find your habit. If you’re struggling, set aside twenty minutes today to dedicate to your work. Twenty minutes. That’s all. Twenty minutes today. Twenty minutes tomorrow. Start slowly, and build yourself up. You’ve got this!
Onward!