2013 photography challenges

I always seem to be taking photos, especially of the kids, but never seem to *quite* get them to turn out the way I want.  Thus, more practice is required ... especially because I have a tendency to take photos in fits and spurts.  So this year, I'm doing a few things to improve my photography skills.

First off, I'm going to start taking one of my cameras everywhere, rather than letting them languish on my desk.  That means making sure I've got batteries charged for both, and I can see a trip to Costco for a supply of AAs (which is what my elderly Minolta uses).

Secondly, I'm participating in two separate photo challenges.  The first is Picaboo's The Places We'll Go:  A 52 week Project.  This promises to be an interesting project, and I'm hoping to learn a lot more about photography along the way.  I always find Picaboo's tutorials valuable, especially for this distracted photographer.

The second photo challenge is from Capture your 365.  Monthly challenges are listed, which include a list of prompts, and you can even receive daily inspiration via email.  I'm looking forward to this one a lot.  I use a similar process for writing, and have discovered a lot about myself in the process.  Who knows what photos this year will bring!

This year promises to be full of photos (and writing, of course!), and it'll certainly be nice to have a series of photos to add to my journal.  I'm not sure exactly how I'm going to do this yet, but I'll figure it out as I go along.

Watch your office supplies like a hawk

We had an interesting highlighter episode the other day while I was doing some editing.  I'm not sure whether it was Thing 2 or Emmy who first got their hands on a yellow highlighter, but I spent the next day finding pieces of it all over the house.  Who knew a basic chubby highlighter had so many parts?

Thing 2 first coloured all over his face with it, apparently using it much like face paint.  He was rather proud of himself, and quite miffed at me that it had to come off.  A good scrub with waterproof mascara remover, and it was all off, which was a good thing as we were headed out the door shortly thereafter for the city.  I confiscated the pieces I found, but didn't have anywhere near a complete highlighter.

Later that day, I discovered that Thing 2 had coloured all over his jeans, too.  This in the time since I cleaned him up.  No idea when that happened, but he seems to be very artistic.  Oy vey!  Into the washer went the jeans, along with a bit of stain remover to boot.

Then, I happen to look at Emmy.  She's got a perfectly round, bright yellow patch on the white fur of her back.  Yikes!  Thing 2 gets lectured on why we don't colour on our pets.  Emmy now needs a bath, but with it -20 C outside, I think I'm going to have to resort to either dry shampoo or spot cleaning.

The escapade isn't over yet.  I discover the foam center of the highlighter upstairs in the TV room, and subsequently throw it out.  But I didn't do this fast enough, as the right arm of my glider rocker is now covered in yellow highlighter, too.  Ack!  At least it's washable.

Christmas Eve Chaos

I'm not feeling particularly poetic at the moment, having succumbed to hectic last-minute preparations.  I've managed a bit better this year than most, as the wrapping is done (aside from one gift that the eldest needs to help wrap), my shopping is finished, I picked the last of the packages up from the post office this morning, stocking gifts are wrapped (and sorted ... An important task that didn't happen last year, but which is story into itself), and I've even set aside all of the gifts that need to go to the inlaws’ house tomorrow evening.

I feel a bit guilty, taking a moment to write when my kitchen looks like a chef-related bomb went off, when there’s a mountain of laundry to be done, when the kitchen and living room floors need to be washed, when the sheets on all the beds need to be changed, and when the main floor bathroom needs to be cleaned.  But I need a minute to take a deep breath before I head back into the fray, and I need also to remember what’s most important about this time of year.  Twenty years from now, I doubt whether the kids will remember how clean the house is.  What they will remember, however, is the time we spent together as a family, baking cookies, playing board games (Mousetrap is super-popular at the moment), shopping for families in need in our community, taking meals to Mrs. Claus (who organizes our local Christmas charity, and often forgets to eat this time of year), and all the other myriad things we do together, as a family.

So I'm going to ignore what I can of the clutter and mess that comes from working and having small children, and will take the time to enjoy the holidays with my family, before they’re grown up and gone.  I look forward to the joy and wonder I know I'll see on their faces tomorrow morning, to the love and happiness they bring to our lives.

Now I'm off to mix up a batch of buns for tomorrow (the last of my “must-do tasks”), then once the boys are up from their naps, we’ll make a batch of ginger snaps and the gingerbread cake for tonight’s dessert, during which I'm sure I’ll be serenaded with off-key, oddly-worded Christmas carols (the latest being “deck the halls with macaroni” ... Who knew?).

Do not disturb

The boys have learned, over the last few years, that there are times Mommy absolutely cannot be interrupted, unless there's fire, poop, puke, or blood.  I don't invoke this very often, which means it's usually quite effective when I do.  Over the course of the four or so years I've been using it, though, the interruption criteria hadn't been met once.

Thing 1 came up to me yesterday and poked me, while in the midst of marking some particularly detailed term papers.  I looked at him, then asked, "Is there fire?"

"No, Mommy."

"Is there poop?"

"No, Mommy.  No poop."

"Is there puke?"

"Eww ... no, Mommy.  That's gross."

"Is there blood?" I asked, voice rising a bit, having gotten through the first three criteria without a positive answer.

"Right here, Mommy," he said, showing me his blood-covered finger, sliced open on one of his toys somehow.  I never did figure out exactly what happened.

Oops ... I cleaned him up, apologized for my tone of voice, then had a talk with him about what to do.  Now he knows that not only can he interrupt me, but that he can also tell me, right off the bat, *why* he's interrupting me.  Oy vey.  

Appallingly awful writing

It's almost end of term, and I'm up to my eyeballs in marking.  I don't want to see another paper for a very long time, but I have 11 of them that I need to get marked tonight, and another batch coming in on Thursday.

I'll admit that I've been procrastinating.  To get the worst of it over first, I've sorted out the worst three papers to mark first.  The problem?  The first one is so appallingly awful that I can't seem to make it through a paragraph without wanting to chuck it across the kitchen.  I'm beginning to wonder why I bother teaching at all, as everything I say seems to bounce off the sides of some students' heads, never mind going in one ear and out the other.  What's even more frustrating is that these are the second drafts I've seen, and the worst one doesn't seem to have made a *single* change from the last go around.

I'm tired, sick (damned bronchitis), and frustrated ... maybe it's not such a good plan to mark these now.  I'm going to take a deep breath, pack this stack back up, and try again tomorrow.  In the meantime:  Scotch, anyone?

Writing and the sickies

Both boys have a cold at the moment, just enough that it's warranted a brief cessation of hockey and skating.  They seem to be over the worst of it, but are both rather tired this afternoon, which means they're more than happy to "rest" on the couch with a snack and a drink, quietly watching episodes of Lego Ninjago on the PVR.

This is rather far from my normal writing time, but I'm taking advantage of the brief lull in activity to do a bit of scribbling.  I have a couple of characters that need to be fleshed out a bit, and a bit of transitional material that I need to write, along with a few other odds and ends.  The dogs are both keeping an eye on the boys, and the door's open so I can hear if either begins the coughing-without-end thing that's been going on for the last couple of days.

I think so much of finding time to write when you're a parent is seizing opportunities as they present themselves.  If I'm not willing to take pen to paper when a few spare moments present themselves, I'd never get anything written.  And the ironic thing is that I'm far, far more productive now than I ever was, before kids.  Go figure, eh?

This afternoon's writing accomplishments, over the course of an hour and a half or so:

• brief thank you note to a friend who allowed, on last minute notice, two of my students to interview him for a project (now I just need to pick up a Tim Hortons coffee card for him so I can mail it)
• several brief work-related email suggesting revisions to students' assignments
• one blog post
• two Christmas lists typed out
• a few article ideas jotted down to pursue at a later date
• one rough (and I do mean rough) draft of an article pitch
• two LinkedIn connections updated
• resume updated to include latest curriculum development project
• list made for items that I need to include when I update my teaching portfolio (hopefully I'll get around to this over Christmas)
• one character sketch written
• 462 words added to the novel I'm working on

Weekend madness

I've come to the conclusion that there are days where, if I want to do any writing at all, I've got to grab seconds and make them count.  Any corner or flat spot will do, so long as I have a moment or three to scribble something down.  My notebook is beginning to look a bit worse for wear, but it's brimming with ideas.  Now if I only had the time to elaborate on them!

On the plus side, I'm getting better at scribbling, and at taking moments when they appear to write something down.  On the down side, I've now got notes scribbled in a dozen different places, which does not bode well for (1) keeping them or (2) actually doing something with them.  Thus, when Nanowrimo is done, which it will be soon, I think I'm going to spend an afternoon typing my notes into Scrivener, which I've just started using and have completely fallen in love with.

In the meantime, I literally have a re-useable grocery bag sitting on the office floor, collecting remnants, ideas, scraps, and other detritus.  It's an odd reliquary, but it seems to be working.  Now if I could only find the top of my desk!

That won't be the case today, as we're off to skating with the boys, then they're off to Grandma's for the afternoon while we do a bit of Christmas shopping and have supper.  Then home to do homework and prepare for tomorrow, which includes another loaf of bread, a batch of muffins, and lunches all round.  But I'm still going to carve out a few minutes to scribble *something*, even if it's only a few words.

The dishwasher whirrs cyclically in the background, blade turning, turning, turning, doing a job I loathe. The oven beeps, up to temperature. I stop to pour a cup of coffee for D—would be nice if someone did that for me once in a while—then chastise myself for being snarky. Thing 1 calls from the bathroom, in the tub, “Mommy, Mommy, I need you.” “Just a second Thing 1,” I say, finishing with D’s coffee. Thing 1 needs a washcloth, so I flip a shark one into the bathtub with him. Breakfast is on the go, but my stomach is staging a mass revolt, so I grab a bag of dried fruit and nuts from the fridge to munch whilst the potatoes are cooking. Only then do I sit down to write.

One hundred and thirty words written, am just beginning to think of what I’d like to write next, then the timer for the potatoes starts beeping, just as the coffee pot beeps that it’s finished brewing. Against this cacophony, I deal with the potatoes, get Thing 1 out of the tub, consume a handful of fruits and nuts, and begin again only to pause … the potatoes, now in the frying pan, need to be stirred.

People ask me how I manage to do so much when I’m so busy … before I had a family, I had to concentrate, focus, and couldn’t write unless the circumstances were perfect. Now, kids, dogs, the craziness of daily life are things that cannot be ignored, which must be worked “around,” rather than through. Thing 2 stops to tell me he played “this many games of Mario Kart,” hands splayed wide to show he had 10 whole races to himself. I nod, smile, and say, “That’s great, little man.” Another pause to check the potatoes and add bacon to the other frying pan. Wet towels picked up off the bathroom floor, pjs and used wash cloths put in the laundry hamper, and sit down again for another few sentences.

I’ll supposedly have a bit of time to myself this afternoon to write, edit, and get a bit of work done, but I still use these odd, in-between moments as I’ve learned, the hard way, that unless I make time to write (and even a few seconds to scribble something down counts), I just don’t do it.

I pause, taking a brief moment amongst the dishwasher, kids, dogs, and Sunday morning talk shows to contemplate, breath a deep breath … it’s not quiet, but it’s calm, if only momentarily. I look forward to this afternoon, but take comfort in the busy-ness that surrounds me.

I took a brief look at my writing list's prompts for the day, but haven’t yet had a chance to discover where they might take me. A line from the prompter's discussion of the weather, however, has managed to get itself stuck to the bulletin board of my mind: “It amazes me that I used to house such contradictory sentiments.” Looking at my writing process, at what it was and what it now is, I can embrace this statement whole-heartedly. While there are, yes, times that I’d be willing to do many things to have a few moments of calmness amidst the chaos, those moments are few and far between. I love my chaotic life, and find that, strangely, I’m far more productive (writing-wise) than I ever was before. Go figure, eh?

It's quiet. What are they doing now?

I've had a few minutes this morning, between making breakfast, doing dishes, and sorting, loading, unloading, folding and putting away laundry. I actually drank an entire cup of coffee before it got cold. Something must be wrong!

The boys are almost always noisy, and combined with our two English Springer Spaniels, the house is almost always in some moving form of chaos. Not this morning, which has made me stick my head out of the office several times to make sure that they're not *doing* anything. Bizarre.

We're now a month into kindergarten for the eldest, Tae Kwon Do is well underway, and skating lessons started this week. Plus the eldest and I went for a run last night (well, as far as a five-year-old runs, but we still averaged a fairly decent pace). My theory: they're tired! We're usually quite active, but I think that they're going to take a bit to adjust to the added activities, which means I might have the odd morning like this one, where I can write for more than five connected minutes at a time. How heavenly!


PS ... all hell broke loose just as I hit "Post." LOL ... at least I got a few quiet minutes to write ;-)

Oy vey!

It's been a busy few weeks, with the eldest starting Kindergarten, the start of a new academic year for work, a short-term curriculum development contract, and a renewed commitment to my own fitness.

I've been home all week with the boys as they've both got pneumonia. I've managed to teach all my classes, with a little bit of creative child care scheduling, but haven't managed to do much else this week. Now that they're both on the mend (but still coughing far too much to go to school or daycare), I've sat down to try to get at least a little bit of work done.

I had the boys fairly well trained over the summer that Mommy needed a bit of time every day to do her work, and now I'm having to reinforce that. On the plus side, they're taking it fairly well, but I think I'll be waiting until their afternoon naps (and trust me, they'll both need one today, especially at the rate that they're coughing) to get any significant writing done.

That being said, this morning has been fairly productive, with about 2 000 words written, 8 email messages responded to, and a bit of online research. All that in amongst breakfast, one potty incident, three "disagreements" between the boys requiring mommy intervention, one crazy barking dog, one phone call, and one search for a lost website bookmark. I'm not feeling overly productive, but looking at this list, I'm amazed that I managed to get anything done at all. ;-)

My cluttered desk

It must be part of the Mom Rules, somewhere in the fine print, that Mom's desk is the place to put things without homes. At the moment, most of mine is fairly clean. But there remain things that make me sing in my head “one of these things is not like the other.”

At the moment, my desk contains the usual writerly detritus (pens, Post-It notes, stapler, desk lamp, clock, a few random pieces of paper in my to-do pile, a three-hole punch, a half-filled notebook, and a copy of the writer's book I'm currently reading. In addition to this, however, are the following:

• a 6370D Makita cordless drill
• a half-used box of #8x1¾ Robertson wood screws
• a 6-inch Robertson bit
• an Ironman battlesuit card
• one orange shoe lace
• one blue shoe lace
• one 6” Ironman
• half of a Transformers plane
• the string (complete with anchors) from a Playmobil jungle set
• one of the dogs' shock collars (including charger and remote)
• a Ziploc bag containing parts and software for the boys' LeapPads

Not bad, actually. The drill's off to the side, with its bit and screws. Not really in the way, but in the way nonetheless. It needs to go back downstairs to the workshop, and have its parts housed in their respective homes. The LeapPad stuff belongs in the filing cabinet, but is out because I need to remember to update both LeapPads. The toys, well they're rather self-explanatory. They just need to be put back where they belong, but were likely hauled in here by the boys whilst either my husband or I was on the computer. The shock collar doesn't really have a home, which is why it's here ... better here than on the kitchen counter, anyway.

It seems, however, that anything that comes into the house that doesn't have an immediate (or immediately accessible) home ends up here. My husband's papers land here, when his half of the desk has begun to overflow. His clothes, discarded as he gets ready for work, end up on my desk and chair. And don't even get me started on how it is that I have a perfectly good year-old computer at the other end of the desk, yet end up using my 6-1/2 year old Linux box for most of my writing ...

In the meantime, I've gained a half-opened package of juice boxes and the wrapper from a granola bar, courtesy of the youngest.

What kind of a writer am I?

I used to be an “I'll do it later, when I've got time to focus” kind of writer. That was before I had two jobs, a husband who's out of town frequently, two medium-sized dogs, and two kids. Ha! How things change. Now I'm an “I'll write whenever, wherever, however, with whatever's on hand” kind of writer. And the funny thing is that I'm more prolific now than I was back then. Go figure.

I don't think I need to answer the more obvious parts of the “what keeps you from writing” question. One of the not-so-obvious things that keeps me from writing is my perception of its value. I carve time out from my busy schedule for at least an hour of yoga a day, plus strength training and cardio (both of which play second fiddle to yoga, if there's any question of lack of time). I have a number of reasons for this, but the primary one is that I value it, and my family has grown to accept it and value its benefits (both for me and for them) as well.

Writing, on the other hand, doesn't seem to rate the same level of value, and I always seem to find excuses to put it off, “just for a bit.” Knowing the success I've had integrating daily yoga into my life, my goal for July is to make sure that I'm doing the same with my writing. Part of the problem is my perception of it, especially my often incorrect assumption that I'll carve time out to do it later. A second part of the problem is that I haven't published or presented anything in a while (since late October of 2011, to be exact), so there's the perception, both on my part and on my family's (okay, my husband's) that the time isn't necessarily worth the outcome. Personally, I know that this is primarily due to my lack of time spent (1) producing material for publication and (2) polishing and sending out material for publication. The third part of the problem is that I spend a *lot* of time writing in my “real” job as a professor of English and Communications. So when I come home at the end of a workday, I often don't feel like writing much of anything at all.

Just as I've spent the last six months slowly moving my family towards healthier behaviours (eating, exercise, stress reduction, etc.), I'm planning on spending the summer carving out and keeping time to write. I'm going to make sure that if I put my writing off, it does get done later. I'm going to work toward publishing, with a goal of submitting several pieces by the end of summer (and I'm aiming for those to be *gasp* non-academic pieces, to boot). And because I'm currently off for the summer, writing “too much” during the workday isn't going to be a problem.

I've learned from the last six months of focus on my own health that habits, once formed, are hard to break. I had to skip yoga one day earlier this week (it's been a week of tornadoes, torrential rain, and overall wild weather ... house preservation had to come first). The next morning I was already busy plotting how I'd work the lost time into my schedule, and managed to do two hours that day, rather than my normal one. I'm hoping that, with perseverance, I'll see the same success with writing ... making a habit of it.

Ideal writing setting? LOL ... it used to be quiet, peaceful, perfection. Everything had to be “just so.” Now I'm writing whilst the kids are playing some weird game in the background involving Hot Wheels cars and a lot of crashing, my husband's busy trying to keep them in line while watching Saturday morning talking heads (which I can't stand ... hence my writing at the moment), the washing machine's whirring away in the background, and one of the dogs keeps barking at the birds outside. My desk looks like a small bomb has gone off on it, and I'm surrounded by Rubbermaid tubs of camping gear that needs to be put back into our basement. Yet I'm still writing ... so at the moment, I'm going to say it's finding the time and space to actually sit down and write. I'm aiming, by the end of the summer, for it to be a regular time and space in which to write, not entirely free of distractions, but one in which interruptions are only tolerated for specific reasons. I'd love a door on my office, but that's just not going to happen ... so I'll settle for creating intangible boundaries, instead.

Ideal time? During morning coffee or after yoga, which is usually done in the evening. I'm not overly productive, creativity-wise, during the afternoon, although that's a good time for busy-work and editing. I'm not exactly a morning person, though, so early-ish morning writing isn't usually practical. I've trained the boys from a young age that they're not to bother me during the 20 minutes or so it takes to drink a cup of coffee, so am aiming for the next couple of months to take that time to write, as well. I'd love to have the entire morning to write, everyday, which is what I did when writing my thesis for my MA ... hopefully I'll be able to do that again!

Why I hate my inner critic

"You've got to be crazy to think that you can writer. Never mind that you're not some Ernest Hemingway or Mina Loy, you've got no time. None!

You should be taking care of your family, feeding and clothing them, making sure they're well-rounded and properly educated. You need to make soccer ball cake pops for the soccer wind-up, and ensure that the boys' teeth are properly brushed and flossed. Your yard should be immaculate, and it's certainly a far cry from that right now. Your house should be perfectly ready for company at all times, no recycling or laundry in sight. Your dogs should be paragons of canine virtue. You can't even do any of these things right now, so how the hell do you expect to manage to keep up all that and write?

And, while we're on the topic, who do you think is going to actually read your writing? You have the audacity to even think you'd be able to publish anything? As if! You haven't a hope in hell and you know it. Even if your writing were quasi-palatable to the most meagre of readers, where do you think you're going to get the time to edit, to make it perfect? Your family—remember them? Get off your lazy ass and go do something productive and beneficial. Don't you have some laundry to do?"

***

I take great delight in listening to this mental crap every time I sit down to write, then I give it the metaphorical finger and begin writing anyway.

Just finish what needs to be done and leave the rest 'til tomorrow. This was one of the prompts from my online writing group this morning, and the only one that really struck a chord with me.

I so wish I could do this some days. I saw a Facebook posting a while back, a short vignette about a man who comes home to find his house is a disaster and fears something horrible has happened to his wife. When he finally finds her, she's in bed in her pyjamas, reading a novel. He asks her what happened, and she says “You know every day when you come home from work and you ask me what in the world do I do all day?” “Yes,” was his incredulous reply. She answered, “Well, today I didn't do it.” (Full story available here)

I've had an hour and a half of more or less uninterrupted time this afternoon. There have been dogs and small children wandering in and out of the office, but unless they've needed to use the bathroom, they've been summarily ejected back to their respective “quiet time” spots. I still have at least five loads of laundry to do, some dishes from lunch that I need to wash, the dogs need a walk, the van needs to be cleaned out (don't ask, you really don't want to know), and I need to find one stupid little piece of paper for our accountant (right, as if that's going to happen). Oh, and I still don't know what we're having for supper (but there's Naniamo bar defrosting on the kitchen counter, so at least dessert's taken care of). The guest bedroom looks like a bomb went off in it, and we have company coming Thursday morning. Oh, and soccer practices and games start this week. And when my husband gets home from work (and don't even get me started about why he's at the office on a Sunday) he'll surely ask me where “x” is, as if I've some kind of wizardly lost-object-finding power. *sigh*

I've seen what happens when I “leave the rest for tomorrow,” and it's not pretty. I was at a fitness industry conference and training session for three days last week, which meant my husband had to deal with the boys Friday evening and all day Saturday. I didn't do anything aside from the bare necessities (8-hour plus days of yoga training will do that to you). I'm *still* trying to get caught up, a week later.

But I am learning, at least to an extent. I actually had a nap yesterday, which I desperately needed ... and didn't feel guilty about starting supper at 5:30. I've taken time this afternoon to do some writing and have actually found the top of my desk. Now I'm off to make a pot of green tea, do some sun salutations, and continue on with my housework and cleaning. If you don't hear from me by supper time, be careful when you go searching ... the dust elephants may have carried me off!

Writing when you don't feel like it.

This is pretty much every day, in my life. That being said, I don't believe in writers block, per say. Is more like the well runs dry and it needs to be recharged in some way. Also, it's about showing up, about putting in effort even when you don't feel like it, even if all you're doing is grousing on the page about how much you don't feel like writing. Can you use that to your advantage, turn it into something you can use, somewhere, somehow? I think so, even if it's only capturing the frustration and encapsulating it for use later.

I long for the days of quiet, before kids, when the mornings were mine to do with as I pleased, and evenings were a leisurely affair. But the interesting thing is that I actually do more writing, and am mo productive, now. Go figure. I think it's because I force myself to do it, to make time for it, instead of waiting to write when everything was perfectly and my muse was whispering in dulcet tones in my ear. Now, my writing often feels utilitarian and fraught with interruptions, but these force me to focus, to jump headlong into a character’s head, rather than taking the time to prepare myself. If I don't grasp the time I have, seize the day (for lack of a better phrase), nothing gets written. I took an online writing course earlier in the year and was absurdly productive, despite the craziness going on around me. So I know I can do it, I just need to make sure that I make myself.

It’s not that I don't feel like writing, most days, honestly. It's that the day’s been crazy, I have what seems like a million things on my mind, lurking in the corners of my consciousness, and there's so much going on that I have a hard time focusing on anything, nevermind actually putting coherent words on the page. But I'm continually surprised by what I do manage to write when I'm feeling like this, if I can manage to put my butt in the chair and type out something, even if only a few meagre words.

But now, for example, the radio’s blaring, the kids are making random comments about the scenery, and I'm typing on my iPad (and fixing many typos) while we're driving into the city to pick up Dana's car and get groceries. My writing's not perfect, and it'll need editing, but it's words on the page, and that's what matters.m so the 25 or so minutes that I'd really be doing not much of anything turns into something that's at least quasi-productive, and is over 400 words more than I had when we left the house.

Finding time to write

Schedule time

You’d think that the idea of scheduling time to write is so simple, but it really isn’t. It’s hard, especially when you have a family. So whether you have to literally write your writing time into your calendar/dayplanner/schedule, or whether you just have to say to yourself, “Self, you have to write for twenty minutes today,” do it. Schedule that time, and then stick to your schedule. It’s an appointment that you can’t afford to miss. And setting that schedule, taking the time to write, will show your family that you value your writing time. Don’t let other things encroach on that time … and if you really must miss it, make sure that you reschedule it.


Establish boundaries

It's not enough to set a time to write, you need to establish boundaries around that time. Weekend mornings are sacred in our house, and the boys have learned from a very young age that if Mommy hasn't finished her first cup of coffee, she's not to be disturbed. Having a toddler turning preschooler, there are currently three exceptions: blood, fire, or a potty-training issue. Otherwise, they have learned that I'm not to be disturbed. It's difficult to stick to, but they've learned enough now to come check the level of my coffee cup. I'm not sure what I'll do once they've learned to check whether it's warm enough to still be drinkable--I have a tendency to get involved in what I'm doing and leave the last inch or so until it's cold and bitter.

I'm going to have to come up with other boundary markers soon, as both boys are outgrowing their weekend afternoon naps. But establishing that quiet time is another do-not-interrupt time is working, at least so far. But I've discovered that I, too, have to be vigilant and not break my own rules, no matter what, and that's something that I find really difficult to do. For example, the dryer just beeped, which means it’s time to switch loads. I had a really hard time, especially considering the mountain of laundry I've got to do right now, not getting up from the table and switching the loads, folding the one, putting it away ... and getting sucked into the housework vortex once more.

Other things are easier, like making sure that I'm not spending time reading email and surfing aimlessly. I also won't answer the phone unless it's daycare or my husband calling. Anyone else can leave a message if it's important. If necessary, I've even been known to kennel the dogs to prevent distractions.


Treat it like work

I think I'm safe in assuming that most of us wouldn't stay home from work because there was laundry to do or dishes to be done. But when we're at home and trying to fit writing into our schedules, all of the housework that needs to be done is staring us right in the face. Whether it's a week's worth of laundry or the dishes from breakfast, they're right in front of us, which makes them very difficult to ignore. We think to ourselves, "I'll just do these few dishes, then I'll sit down and do some writing." No! Back away from the housework, now! You can get sucked into the housework vortex just as easily as you can the Google vortex. Those five minutes of dishes turn into putting away the clutter that's on the kitchen counter, which turns into putting cleaning off the coffee table, which turns into restacking the books beside the bed, which ... you get my drift. It's not a good thing.

So if you've set your writing time and established your boundaries, set boundaries for yourself, too. Ignore the dishes, the laundry, and the clutter. It's time to write, and that's what you need to be doing. Remember, butt to chair, pen/pencil to paper, fingers to keyboard. The dishes can wait ... trust me, they're not likely to grow little legs and wander off while you spend twenty minutes writing.

As I write this, there's a load of laundry in the dryer that needs to be folded so I can dry the load that's just finishing, there are a few dishes in the sink, the dishwasher needs to be unloaded, and it's almost time to make supper. But I still have two minutes of writing time left and, damn it, I'm going to use them because they're a precious commodity around here! And when my time is up, I'll unload the dryer onto the kitchen table, start supper, fold the laundry and load it to its respective baskets while I'm cooking, then set the table whilst unloading the dishwasher. It'll all get done, but writing time comes first!

Writing amidst chaos

Journal entry from July 27, 2012

I'm sitting at the kitchen table amidst the afternoon's play detritus, temporarily ignoring the kids and the dogs to write. Muppets from Space and the dogs' play-fighting are in the background, along with a slightly off-balance washing machine and a dryer in which I appear to have loaded at least a small handful of change.

Don’t even get pencil to paper before I pause to change a diaper. How can that small of a person make that big of a mess? And why does he always manage to put a foot into the poopy mess just when I’m almost finished?

Pause to get out colouring books and markers, have Thing One argue with me about stickers he thinks we’ve brought to the lake (but which are actually in his art box at home), and to tell him three times that he can’t play with my iPhone (and delete all of my contacts for the umpteenth time). Then pause to help him put his colouring stuff away when he decides that he doesn’t want to colour after all.

Pause to take Thing One to the potty. Try to figure out how he manages to pee all over the wall and completely miss the toilet.

Remember I haven't checked the septic lift station yet today. Brace myself to leave the air conditioned house for the heat and humidity to check the holding tank. Needs to be pumped. Wait (and fry) for the five minutes it takes to pump it, obsessively checking the baby monitor to make sure the boys aren't trying to kill each other. Trudge back inside. Look longingly at beer in the fridge, then think about all the stuff I need to do tonight. Decide to-do list trumps beer (but barely).

Move trucks off pad of paper, pause to rescue chipboard "W" from puppy's mouth, find her food, and feed her. Set timer for ten minutes so I won't forget to take her out (and thus have to clean up poop).

Pause to recheck the day's list of writing prompts. Laugh when I see "How many times do I have to tell you" as a prompt. I must've said that at least four times today.

Write 97 words.

Pause to kiss a bruised toe and set Thing Two's train set up on the table beside me.

Pause to turn off buzzer and let puppy out to poop. Try to figure out where Dad moved the poop bags. Clean up poop. Crate puppy. Move trains off legal pad and rescue pencil from Thing Two.

Write 282 words. Complete scene.

Pause to make supper for the boys. Reset breaker (blown by running microwave and a/c at the same time ... you'd think I'd know by now). Admonish Thing Two for driving Tonka dump truck up fridge door.

Clean up water from floor at base of water cooler. Determine Thing Two has been drinking straight from cooler tap. Yuck. Tell him "No," rather firmly. He starts to cry. Hug. "It's okay, but no more drinking from the cooler taps, okay little man?" He nods, face still streaming crocodile tears.

Finish cooking and plate supper. Thing One informs me that he doesn't want supper. Resist urge to tell him about all the starving children in Africa.

Change laundry. Hope septic pump holds out at least another day, as there are at least two more loads that need to be done. Try to track down smell in laundry room (not dirty laundry). Discover rotten potato. Remove. Mop floor. Put laundry on bed to fold later.

Sweep rice up from floor around Thing Two. Wonder if he actually ate any of it or if he just threw fistfuls in the air while I was in the laundry room. Pause to clean up salt shaker youngest has emptied onto table whilst I was putting the broom and dustpan away.

Pause for truck races (over my foot--ouch!), dishes, pyjamas, potty, teeth brushing, stories, and tucking in. Another pause for milk and snack for eldest.

Yet another pause to close the front gate. How the heck did that end up open? Keep eldest dog from escaping, again.

Write 685 words. Finish scene.

The Habit of Writing

Most writing advice you read tells you that the best way to write productively is to schedule time to write.

It's good advice, but anyone with small children will tell you that scheduling anything, never mind time to write, is like trying to climb Mt. Everest backwards in flip-flops.

The key is not that you write at a scheduled time every day, but that you write every day.

It might only be 100 words, scribbled on the back of a grocery receipt, or it might be, on a good day, a couple thousand or more.

What's most important is that you're writing. And if all you're writing about is how tired you are, how grumpy the baby is, how messy your house is, that's fine. Regardless, you're putting butt to chair and pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard).

It's developing (and maintaining) the habit of writing every day, no matter what, that is significant.

There will be days where you'll think you're too busy, too tired, too sick, too stressed, too whatever to write. Don't give in. Suck it up, take a deep breath, and write about it.