Yo, awesome readers!
Recently, someone asked me what I do for a living and when I told him, his response was, “A writer? That’s interesting!”
Here’s the truth about the writing life:
It’s not that exciting.
We read a lot. We write a lot. And when we need to pull ourselves away from whatever we’re working on, we think a lot.
Not that exciting and yet we love it. In fact, we love it so much that when we’re not reading or writing or thinking, we’re talking about it.
And in that spirit, this Friday I’ll be sharing some insights on the writing life. Insights like this one:
Writing is about harnessing your thoughts so that you can put them into words. This helps us (and sometimes other people) understand the world.
Here’s how this works.
lying in bed … laying in bed … falling asleep or in the shower or walking down the snack aisle at the grocery store and *POOF* your mind gets hijacked by a thought and you MUST write it down. YOU MUST WRITE IT DOWN NOW.
Suddenly you’re not sleeping or taking care of your personal hygiene or shopping anymore. Instead, you’re pulling out your phone or notebook or scratching things into a bar of soap. As fast as you can, you’re scribbling down random words before you forget.
And that’s just the beginning.
Come back this Friday for more insights on how this writing thing works.
Meanwhile, here’s a link to my latest article over on Yummy Mummy Club, Parenting: The Good, The Bad … The Myths.
Until Friday, sending you wishes for a great week!
(What I imagine a wish sounds like.)
UPDATE: In case you’re late to the party, here’s the link to The writing life 2 – Strike while it’s HOT or DIE.
Subscribe to this blog and get notified when new posts are up. How do you subscribe? Just enter your email address in the subscription box (somewhere on this page, depending on what device you’re reading from).
Oh, the distractions! There’s nothing worse than being in the zone and the phone ring or doorbell!
Priscilla King says
“My wife enters the room
where I’m writing well
of my love for her
and because the poem is lost
I silently curse her.”
Or…*Because* my husband agreed not to demand attention upon arrival, when he arrived and I was *not* writing I’d meet him in the door with a towel and basin to wash his feet. (I wasn’t even publishing much of it. He was not a normal husband.)