A guest post to motivate, encourage, and inspire
Writing Amidst The Carnival
FAQ: How do you find time to write, as a full-time mama without childcare, who works part-time?
Answer: I don't wait for a moment of solitude, I jump in and write amidst "The Carnival."
I'm not referring to the seminal Wyclef Jean album, but rather the fact that I write most of my pieces with my family rumbling and tumbling all around me.
Recently I read this article about the routines of famous writers, and was dipped into a vat of longing reading about the writers who devoted hours of their day to their craft, with breaks only for physical activity like swimming or running, returning to the page in the evening, perhaps with a stiff drink in hand.
However, I also read about several writers who plunge in, like Ray Bradbury, who wrote without quietude, with his family in the room. That seems right to me. And it is how I am getting it done.
Writing in the midst of one’s family is not ideal -- without the chatter of Dora in the background, I might be a novelist rather than a blogger.
When writing needs total incubation, I jot some thoughts down in the morning, then polish and finish at nap time. Sometimes I can steal 15 minutes here and there to write, adding up to a full piece. Other times the pressure builds for days, and I have to type, even if it means staying up late, my brain positively on fire.
E. B. White also wrote with the "carnival" of his house all around him. "The members of my household never pay the slightest attention to my being a writing man — they make all the noise and fuss they want to. A writer who waits for ideal conditions under which to work will die without putting a word on paper."
That final sentence may be my personal motto.
Maya Angelou also prefers to write in the morning, "Then I go out and shop — and pretend to be normal. I play sane — Good morning! Fine, thank you. And you? And I go home." Like her, I am often feigning normalcy as I'm clanging away inside with the desire to get back to art-making. Gratefully, I've found some fellow caregivers who I don't need to pretend with, so when we're at the playground and my daughter falls from the play structure into the sand because I was caught in a poetry-induced reverie and not watching her at all, they just help me dust her off and don't call Child Protective Services.
Recently I was bemoaning our financial woes to my friend and I pointed up to our apartment and yelled, "This whole thing is held together by string and luck!" Perhaps my writing career is as well. String, luck, and a ton of love and desire. In fact, that's what everyone is getting for their birthdays from me this year. It will come wrapped in toddler drawings, tied with a ribbon of precious time.
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