Have you ever thought about making a living as a writer? That thought has been a constant companion of mine for the past 25 years. Yes, 25 years, and it was just about exactly one year ago that I actually started doing something about it.
Now with a little one on the way, I wondered if that dream would need to be postponed yet again. I really shouldn’t be so quick to sacrifice my dreams yet again to cater to the needs of everyone else around me. One of the things I most want to provide for my daughter is a good example. I want my daughter to grow up looking up to a mother who is loving and kind and attentive, yes, but also self-actualized, intellectually stimulated, self-sufficient, engaging, happy, and living up to her potential. I want to provide this example to my daughter because I wish these traits for her (in addition to the fact that I’m worth it, dammit).
Writer Mama, by Christina Katz, talks about how to get a writing career off the ground while you have small children in tow: start small while babies absorb so much of your attention and grow your business as your children gain greater degrees of independence and self-sufficiency.
Topics covered in the book include (among many others):
how to manage writing time around caring for children
how to deal with the “clips catch-22,” or how to get published if you’ve never been published
the business of writing: queries, article submissions, contracts, negotiations
managing your home and while managing your writing business
how to conduct interviews
editing and polishing your work
One of the hardest things to deal with for many who work from home, not just moms, is the fact that others tend to disrespect the time of the home worker. When people pack up their briefcase and head off to the office, that work time is respected and to some extent, even sacred. Those working from home seldom get the same respect unless they are very clear about setting their boundaries with others in advance.
Because of People Who Don’t Get It, if you are not good at setting boundaries with adults and children, you’re going to need to start practicing. I suggest you start sooner rather than later. If you wait until you have a deadline looming to try to convince family members that your work matters and that you deserve support in gettting it done, you will be sorry (and probably late with your work too).
I’m really appreciating this book. It is well organized so specific topical information is easy to find. I suspect I will be consulting it regularly over the coming months and years.
FTC Disclosure: affiliate links were used in this post.
Joanna Young at Confident Writing is sponsoring a group writing project ending Christmas Eve called Simply the Best. The goal is for each blogger to scour their posts over the past year and identify the one post that they believe is their best writing of the year. Then, write a post that links to that best post and completes the sentence “This post is simply the best because…” in 30 words or less.
This is not as easy as it sounds.
For this challenge I have selected my post “My Mother’s Gift,” which was my Mother’s Day post this year. Have you read it yet?
This post is simply the best because I was able to be candid about my family, its an unusual and interesting story, and I was able to touch just the right emotional notes.
My favorite place to write is at the local bookstore. Sure, I could write at home, but there are too many distractions. Writing in a cafe can be difficult due to the noise level and it carries the prerequisite of purchasing a coffee or other such item, a habit I’ve been trying to significantly restrict. The library does not sell nor allow snacks or beverages, and at times it can be downright intimidating.
At my bookstore (did I just say my bookstore? Why, yes I did. That’s how I feel about it.), I can settle in to my table by the window, plug in the laptop or whip out a notebook and write away while noshing on my brought from home snacks and beverages.
At my bookstore I can focus. It’s familiar enough to feel homey, yet there are no nagging obligations. I can turn off the phone, I don’t have to look at the dirty dishes, if the bathroom needs to be cleaned, it will be done by someone other than me.
And my bookstore has air conditioning. It’s been in the 90s lately, and this little girl from Alaska has no air conditioning in her apartment and is having some difficulty managing the heat gracefully.
I went to my bookstore to escape the heat and get some work done and discovered that my bookstore is being remodeled. Books piled up on carts rather than bookshelves. The shelves pushed around in strange configurations. A huge 3000 square foot area is cleared out and empty save a few piles of rubbish.
This huge cleared out area is the area in which my table used to sit next to my window, where I would occasionally look up from my writing to watch the toddlers play in the playground outside. The window had paper taped over it, completely blocking the view. Many of the tables were piled in a corner, others were pressed into service as book display. The chairs were lined up along the railing looking out into the walkway like the chairs lined up outside of the principles office.
Discombobulated.
That’s the word of the day. I was discombobulated. I came to my bookstore for relief and found more frustration. I stood there looking around, wondering if I should sit in one of the chairs and wait for the principle to call me, or figure something else out.
I spent some time wandering around the bookstore and marveling at the way the books had been rearranged. I found Accounting and Bookkeeping books put away in the nature section (In my mind, accounting and bookkeeping both go against nature). In the Database/SQL Server section I found Breaking into Acting for Dummies, Three Theban Plays by Sophocles, and Pygmalion. In Regional Gardening, I was intrigued by The Boss of You: Everything a Woman Needs to Know to Start, Run and Maintain Her Own Business. I grabbed The Boss of You and retired to the store’s cafe.
I usually avoid my bookstore’s cafe because it is obscenely loud and it can be difficult to get a good seat. The baristas are curiously slow; so slow in fact that I find myself staring at them, not impatiently, I’m just completely mesmerized. There is no hesitation or confusion in the baristas, each movement is long and slow and languid and completely controlled. When she calls out my iced latte after setting it down in front of me, I’m startled back to this reality. I still need to find a table.
I sit at the one empty table, pull out my notebook and pen, and crack open The Boss of You to see what I think of the inside of this book. While perusing the table of contents I feel eyes on me. I notice over the top of the book that the elderly man with very long fingernails at the next table was staring at me while pit mining his nostrils. He stared intently and worked intently for a while, looking away only long enough to admire what he had produced so far, wipe it on the table, and then return to mining and staring. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. Then he went back to reading his magazines. I immediately swore I would never read another magazine (we’ll see how long that lasts) and from now on I will bring hand sanitizer to my bookstore with me.
Any hope of concentrating was gone. I left the book on the table and took my iced latte and notebook and went home. The Boss of You will have to be read and reviewed another day.
For the past couple of months the Husband has been encouraging me to pack up my goodies and go spend a day studying in the reading room in the Suzzillo Library at the University of Washington. It’s just a couple blocks away, but I’ve been resisting.
For some reason I felt intimidated.
I’m not sure why, in fact I think my IQ went up a few points just by my walking into the room.
This is such a beautiful room, and the people studying in the room treat it with respect. I love how there is a quiet in here that does not exist in other parts of the library. No jabbering on cell phones, no printers, no copiers, no high heels clacking.
Once I got over the gawkfest and took a few pictures, I was able to settle down and get some work done.
It was so nice to have a quiet place to work with no interruptions. Every once in a while the Husband is right.
I read Natalie Goldberg’s Writing Down the Bones the first time in 1990. I was twenty and had just decided that I want to be a writer when I grow up. I had never imagined such a book: a writer writing about writing. It’s a simple concept, I know. But it blew my mind. I devoured every word and then went back and read it again. I was so full of hope and ambition and passion. I went out and bought myself a big beautifully bound journal in which I would practice my craft.
I went to a bustling cafe, sat down with my big steaming cuppajoe, got out my new pen and stared at the blank page while I waited for a jewel of inspiration. Nothing. Nothing in my head was worthy of that fancy journal. Crap. Drivel. Cliche. Not a single thought that tickled my brain or twitched the nib of my pen was good enough to commit to paper. How the hell do writers do this? Everyday?
Damn.
I missed the basic premise of the book: just do it. Don’t wait for it to be perfect, don’t repaint your walls to create the perfect writing room, don’t wait for the soundbites that everyone will still be quoting 50 years after you’re gone. Just write. You find the good stuff in editing.
Eighteen years later I reintroduced myself to an old passion that never died; the dream of making a living as a writer. It’s different this time. I write every day. Most of what write is crap, and that’s a beautiful thing. I celebrate the shit. I write in spiral bound notebooks that pile up and clutter our apartment. I write, I doodle, I daydream, I do timed writes, I write even when my head is completely empty. I write when I don’t know what to write. Sometimes I just write “I don’t know what to write” over and over until my pen writes something else. It’s not glamorous, it’s not inspirational, it’s not perfect. It’s just writing down the bones.
I re-read Writing Down the Bonesand this time I got it. You have to be willing to be not perfect. I still have times when I find it critically important that I reorganize my files, or transcribe an entire spiral bound notebook into my computer, but on closer inspection that usually means I’m procrastinating and I’m afraid I might write crap. So then I sit down and write crap anyways.
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