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.