Posted in Blogging, Goals, Life, Musings, story telling, writing

The Writing Hour

typing

You’ve heard of the Witching Hour, right? Well, I want to talk about the Writing Hour- the magical time of day when I get to write. I get up at 4:30 in the morning, every single day, just so that I can have this quiet, undisturbed time to write.

Every night, before bed, I set up my coffee maker so that it starts my coffee at 4:15, assuring that it will be ready when I crawl out of the warmth of my blankets way before the first light of dawn. It takes me a little time to wake up- somewhere around the dregs of my first cup, I stop reading and commenting on blogs, and start working on something of my own. Sometimes it’s my novel, and sometimes it’s a blog post- on a good day, like today, I might manage both.

Like many of us, I am an extremely busy person. I work full time, I have a small child (and a not so small child, also), a house full of pets that want my attention. There is homework to be done, and housework, laundry that never seems to be folded, and a million other little tasks tugging constantly on my mind. On top of that, I am in recovery, trying to fit in meetings, and doing all the things that take care of me mentally and physically. Groceries need to be bought, dinners prepared, I have to get to the gym, I have to walk the dog. My God, just writing it down makes me anxious. The list literally had no end- once you complete it, if that ever even happens, you go back to the top and start over.

And that is fine, that’s just the way life is. BUT…doing any of these things at 4:30 in the morning would be pretty unreasonable, if you ask me. The only acceptable thing I can think of to do at that hour, besides sleep, is write. Between the hours of 4:30 and roughly 6:30 in the morning, I am free to indulge myself in whatever form of writing pleases me. I can read blog posts at my leisure, or re-read the latest chapter in my work in progress. I can let my fingers fly over the keyboard as I transcribe the crazy events playing out in my imagination. Not even the sky is the limit. It’s entirely up to me.

Could I use a bit more sleep? Maybe. Would my life benefit at all from me staying up later than 8:30 every night? Most likely. Am I willing to give even an inch on this one thing, and give up my magical Writing Hour? Not even a chance. I’d rather yawn my way through the day and count down the minutes to bed time than give up my writing time.

Happy Friday, and Happy Writing!

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Posted in Blogging, Goals, humor, Life, People, random, writing

A Few Things…

don't give a fuck

The first thing: I really need to sit down here and write whatever it is that I feel compelled to write, when I am feeling the compulsion. I need to finish whatever it is, and I need to then publish it. This used to be a pretty straightforward cycle for me, but all of the sudden, I have started dragging my feet, over-thinking, stopping in the middle and then abandoning nearly finished blogs altogether. It seemed like a phase, at first, but now it looks suspiciously like a bad habit. I have enough of those already, thank you very much. ┬áSo, I am going to try to do that- sit down while the sittin’s good, write until it is written, and then publish it. I don’t want to alarm anyone, but you guys are really missing out on some great and brilliant musings because of my selfish withholding, and it has to stop.

The next thing: My only New Year’s Resolution this year was to give zero fucks what anyone may or may not be thinking, saying, or feeling about me, due to an inordinate amount of time spent obsessing (by me) over what everyone, from the mail man to my mother, those thoughts, etc., may be. I am rapidly closing in on my 40th birthday, and I’m very tired of giving so many fucks about imagined, and real, opinions about me, my life, and whatever else. I mean, who fucking cares, right? It’s exhausting, and I have vowed to quit it. Unfortunately, as is often the case when resolving to change something, I find that I am either giving a lot more fucks about the above mentioned things, or I am just hyper aware of all the fucks I give. But I have gotten good at recognizing the tension that creeps into my body when i start giving a fuck, and I can quickly relax into the “give a fuck” contraction, and breathe my way out of it. Seriously, though, I would like to be able to take in someone’s advice, opinion, or even their shitty, backhanded compliment, and not take it ON, like it’s automatically a fact, or a misconception of which I must convince the sharer otherwise. “Oh, really, you think I could improve my parenting skills? Well, aren’t your thoughts straying far away from home these days, eh? You have a nice day.” “Sooo…you have some advice I didn’t solicit about how I run my life, huh? Wow, and you’ve never even been to my house, met my kids, or seen me outside of a controlled environment. I’m just going to keep texting while you talk, but I am totally listening to you.” THAT is how I would LOVE to be. Instead, I am more like “Oh, shit, the neighbors are watching me parallel park…I’ll just…I think I can pull straight in, there’s enough room. SHIT. I’m twenty feet from the curb, I’ll do it the other way. Why are they looking at me? FUCK. They probably think I am such a lunatic. Oh my God, I am STILL ten miles from the curb. Fuck it, I am just leaving it, I don’t care if I’m in the middle of the road. if those assholes weren’t sitting there, judging me, maybe I could park my car like a normal person…” And this is just me, parking my CAR. There’s a part of me that knows how insane my thinking is, and that they probably don’t even notice what is happening at all. There is a part of me that understands, even if they are gawking at my shitty parking job, why the fuck should I care? I mean, it doesn’t matter. But the bigger part of me is hysterical, loud, and incredibly anxious and sensitive, and she wants those gawking assholes to be in AWE of her mad parallel parking skills. She is the one I am trying to mellow out a little bit.

My hope is that I can bring my “no fucks given here” policy to my blog, as well. I would like you to share your feelings and opinions with me here, with the understanding that I am hearing what you are saying, and I am not going to allow it to embed itself on my skin like a tattoo. I am not even going to put it in my saved file unless it really is worthy, and I will offer, in return, full disclosure when writing, no matter how annoying that is to my mother. Feel free to not care a whit what I am telling you, of course. I am not there just yet, but that is my goal.

The last thing: The other reason I think I need to get on here and write, as close to daily as I can is this: I am just drowning in good material these days. And if I don’t use it, I lose it, or at least, the real essence of “it”, when we are referring to writing. You have to get it out when it is consuming you, because it can die down so quickly, the fire that flares up when one is taken by the muse…anything written when the steam is dying down is going to be less engaging. For me, in my writing, anyway.

Today, I had a horrible day, which means I learned some stuff. The lesson today was this: No matter how incredibly dramatic and awful things appear at first, they almost always simmer down to simply lame and tiring within hours. So getting all hysterical over stuff is pretty much a waste of time. The secondary lesson was: You will instinctively know when it is high time you put your foot down, stand your ground, and defend yourself, and you will also realize that you are a pretty decent human being, all things considered. You, I mean I, do not have to deal with manipulation or bullying from anyone, and I won’t. So THERE.

Well, I am afraid that everything from the second paragraph on is a run-on sentence, written in Pig Latin, but I am not going to check. I am just going to get this published. Besides, everyone knows Pig Latin, anyway.