I know it’s been forever since I’ve blogged and here’s my “truly sorry” for that. This Writing Mom’s got herself a job!!! TOOK FOREVER. 103 resumes later and I’ve landed myself somewhere I really love being. The downside…there went all my writing time.
By the time I get home after having woke up before the sun’s even up, hauling two girls that are somewhere in limbo over having to get up to daycare,switching my “work mind” on with a cup of Cenex’s strongest java and blaring Pandora on whatever I’m feeling at the moment (this morning it was U2 accompanying me on my commute), drilling my happy way through an 8 hour day, driving BACK home, picking up kids no longer in limbo over going to daycare but now in limbo over having to go HOME and who have made it their personal responsibility to bombard mom with “flying squirrel attacks”, making supper, surviving the circus commonly referred to as the bedtime routine I usually end up sitting in front of my computer looking a little something like this:
Which got me thinking while agonizing over what to blog about and seriously re-considering any involvement in NaNo month at all…writing a novel is kind of like a bad relationship.
You open up a document and you start dating. Everything is fresh in your mind, everything new and filled with promise. You spend countless hours together, share some drinks and there’s an allover feeling of bliss and excitement.
Then you’re a few chapters in. That euphoria has dwindled slightly. You’ve settled into a comfortable pace and still feel pretty damn good about everything but the rush has dissipated. You spend your mornings together chatting over coffee, spend a few hours in the evenings cuddling and chatting but not like you used to.
You’re halfway in and now you’re too comfortable – comfortable enough to not spend every waking moment with your novel. You might go all day without seeing it or even considering involvement with it. You get busy, neglectful. And the novel strikes back the only way it knows how – by taking that first pivotal step towards destruction and picking the first fight. It lays the smack-down with writer’s block.
You spend a lot of time confused over why this is happening, trying to make it work, trying to convince your novel that there’s still something there worth writing for. You cry, you scream, you might even throw things and pull the silent treatment on your novel, hoping that it will get the point and you can make up, have a drink or two and sleep in the same bed. (Yes, writers go to bed with their laptops. Sometimes there are late night epiphanies that need to be documented).
What comes after that monumental blowout is something that seems forced and unnatural. It might look good on the outside, but inside…you question everything. Uncertainty and indecision plague you.
By the time you’ve reached the end of your novel you know it’s over. You’ve silently accepted that the relationship has run it’s course and it can end one of two ways – amicably with each of you going your separate ways and finding healthy closure….or with one massive fight, both of you storming off swearing this is the end but leaving a cliffhanger that suggests otherwise and that the entire process will start over again when you’re ready to hit repeat on that entire mess. Because much like people who gravitate back into those bad relationships…writers are masochists. We always go back for more, even when we can remember in painful detail just how much it hurt last time.
So there you have it – writing vs. bad relationships. Not much of a difference, is there?