Some Say It's Easy
The general consensus over writing is that it is either really damn hard to do or really easy. Today, as I sit at my desk performing my day job, I wrote a script for an educational video. It was easy. Fifteen minutes of easy and I was done with about 7 minutes of "stage talk."
But last night, when I got a whole 15 minutes of uninterrupted kid time after dinner? Well, I didn't write a damn thing on my personal projects. Not even a blog post. A witty (pithy) comment. Or a tweet.
After about 10 of those precious minutes passed, I just gave up and decided to spend the time discussing the day with my son. The son who has decided to take up bending the truth when he is afraid of my response TO the truth (case in point: he lost the $10 I gave him for spending money at day camp. But instead of telling me he lost it, he said he bought something to drink. And when I asked where the rest of the money was, he said he bought is his camp friend a drink. And when I asked where the rest of the money from that was, he proceeded to tell me he "thinks he bought a pretzel." Which, brought me to ask more questions, because the keyword "think" means he's likely lying). I wanted him to remember more from today than just me reprimanding him for the lying thing. That is happening daily. And at almost 6 years old, I am still trying to figure out HOW to deal with it, I am resolving to a lot of talking. And discussing. And trying to understand. But I am digressing... because writing about family is apparently even easier than a blog post today. But again... off point.
See, for me, marketing writing, or script writing, or writing manuals, it's become second nature. It is telling the truths of the world about a product, place, thing. And is easy to begin, continue, and end. On most of my days. One reason why it was a logical career choice for me and I'm happy I can do it and make a little cash.
But my fight right now is fiction. The made-up stuff? Well, sure, I can make it all up in my head just fine. That's the easy part. But getting it on paper in the same way I talk about it in my head? Not so easy. Even on my good days.
So, when 15 minutes squeak by me, I get frustrated. Because I know damn well a few hours later, when I am putting The Peanut to bed and she is nursing up a storm and there is no way I'll be able to get to the computer fast enough--those ideas will come back to me. And likely triple fold. And it will be hard for me to recapture them all, when I am tired. Weary. And ready for bed.
But, as the Internet as my witness, I want you to know. I'm trying. Because it would be much better if it was as easy as the work writing. I'd get triple of the work done, in the same amount of time. I'm keeping bulleted lists on everything from napkins, receipts, voice notes on my cell phone, and notebook paper if I am lucky enough to find it. I am collecting furious thoughts. And ones that make no sense at all in this bright red folder I am tucking away in my desk drawer. All in the name of one day getting that next book done. And another following that one. Because, if I don't keep at it, it'll never come easy.
But last night, when I got a whole 15 minutes of uninterrupted kid time after dinner? Well, I didn't write a damn thing on my personal projects. Not even a blog post. A witty (pithy) comment. Or a tweet.
After about 10 of those precious minutes passed, I just gave up and decided to spend the time discussing the day with my son. The son who has decided to take up bending the truth when he is afraid of my response TO the truth (case in point: he lost the $10 I gave him for spending money at day camp. But instead of telling me he lost it, he said he bought something to drink. And when I asked where the rest of the money was, he said he bought is his camp friend a drink. And when I asked where the rest of the money from that was, he proceeded to tell me he "thinks he bought a pretzel." Which, brought me to ask more questions, because the keyword "think" means he's likely lying). I wanted him to remember more from today than just me reprimanding him for the lying thing. That is happening daily. And at almost 6 years old, I am still trying to figure out HOW to deal with it, I am resolving to a lot of talking. And discussing. And trying to understand. But I am digressing... because writing about family is apparently even easier than a blog post today. But again... off point.
See, for me, marketing writing, or script writing, or writing manuals, it's become second nature. It is telling the truths of the world about a product, place, thing. And is easy to begin, continue, and end. On most of my days. One reason why it was a logical career choice for me and I'm happy I can do it and make a little cash.
But my fight right now is fiction. The made-up stuff? Well, sure, I can make it all up in my head just fine. That's the easy part. But getting it on paper in the same way I talk about it in my head? Not so easy. Even on my good days.
So, when 15 minutes squeak by me, I get frustrated. Because I know damn well a few hours later, when I am putting The Peanut to bed and she is nursing up a storm and there is no way I'll be able to get to the computer fast enough--those ideas will come back to me. And likely triple fold. And it will be hard for me to recapture them all, when I am tired. Weary. And ready for bed.
But, as the Internet as my witness, I want you to know. I'm trying. Because it would be much better if it was as easy as the work writing. I'd get triple of the work done, in the same amount of time. I'm keeping bulleted lists on everything from napkins, receipts, voice notes on my cell phone, and notebook paper if I am lucky enough to find it. I am collecting furious thoughts. And ones that make no sense at all in this bright red folder I am tucking away in my desk drawer. All in the name of one day getting that next book done. And another following that one. Because, if I don't keep at it, it'll never come easy.
Labels: me, writing, writing life
