This isn’t exactly a guest post, but Bjørn Larssen’s newest post on his blog is the best (and funniest) description of how it feels to have a new book published and out in the world to be read (or not read) and reviewed I’ve ever seen. So follow this link! You won’t be disappointed.
11:30: Shouldn’t I have a shower today?
6:30: Wake up, hoping the plot problem’s solved itself overnight. It hasn’t.
6:45: Make coffee. Nothing happens without coffee. Feed the cat.
7:00: Sit at desk. Remove cat from keyboard.
7:15: Check social media. Attempt to refrain from checking sales stats. Fail. Sigh today. (Cheered yesterday.)
7:45: Stop procrastinating. Check e-mail for business-related items. Answer 5 emails. Remove cat from in front of computer screen.
8:30: Look at whiteboard. Realize with horror there are three deadlines looming.
8:45: Finish community newsletter column.
9:15: Finish drafting the promotional ‘blurb’ for another author’s book. More coffee.
9:30: Write and schedule social media promos for the next week.
10:15: Becoming one with desk chair. Go for a walk and think about (a) the book review due and (b) the knotty plot point. Apologize to neighbours whom you’ve ignored because you’re deep in thought.
11:30: Shouldn’t I have a shower today?
12:00: Food might help. And more coffee.
12:30: Check social media. Type one-handed because cat is insisting on cuddles.
1:00: Solve some problems for the community newsletter. Apologize to a contributor whose article had a typo.
1:30: Begin the book review.
1:35: Clean up cat’s hairball. Return to book review.
2:30: Ask writer friends via DMs about the plot point. Much discussion….not all on topic.
3:30: Break time. Discuss plot point with husband…or whoever this man I live with is.
4:00: Dear gods, is that the time? Open WIP document.
5:30: Cat is being very loud. Oh. She’s hungry. Oh. Dinner. Good: it’s husband’s turn to cook. Pour wine.
6:30: Clean up. Write a grocery list. Return to desk. Read what I wrote in the WIP. Sigh.
7:30: Couch and tv time. Watch with half an eye. Make hopefully relevant comments to husband about what’s happening on-screen. Write ideas in notebook with the other eye-and-a-half.
10:00: Return to keyboard. Write for a bit.
11:00: Pour scotch. Look at whiteboard of writing/marketing/editorial tasks. Swear. Feed cat. Pour more scotch to counteract too much coffee. Go to bed, plot point still unsolved.
I AM THE PAIN. I LEARN THE PAIN. I DEAL WITH THE PAIN.
Øle Ø is a former member (retired 2016) of SAG-AFTRA – the Actors’ union, and has a B. A. in Theatre and a minor in communication from the University of Minnesota, Duluth.(2000). He’s also worked in the construction trades in NYC (carpenter’s union) and many other various jobs in the Mid-West – too numerous to list. He puts memories on paper in humorous, sometimes sad ways.
“I’ve recently started calling my memories: “Bones,” after reading Natalie Goldberg’s book – Writing Down The Bones and when I write, I consider my writing as: “Crushing Bones”.
Think about being worried, in a hospital or going to the doctor “AGAIN.” Dealing with bad times or unexpected times – life issues stopping you cold from that deadline.
Why should I start writing again? I mean, I go from one uncompleted project for three weeks to another, because of my health.
I’ve been on crutches and can’t go to the bathroom without – excruciating pain. Who can write?!
But wait, I can deal with the pain. No one knows the pain I’ve been through. A small virus in my intestines is nothing like having your chest cracked open 3 times since you were 5 years old. OMG. No one knows that pain.
I swear at my parents. I swear at my doctors. I swear at myself. I swear at the gods that did this to me and realize I can’t do a fucking thing about it.
I AM THE PAIN. I LEARN THE PAIN. I DEAL WITH THE PAIN. (then I thank the doctors and nurses for the meds that temporarily stop my pain…)
My leg or arm wasn’t blown off in a bomb attack. I can’t think of that type of pain. Yet, pain is pain. It impedes a good writing session. No argument – hands down.
When I’m healthy, I can work – either with my hands or my head. Things are much easier then. Much simpler. AND, all those teachers and professors since the third grade saying to me: “You Should Write!”
It’s difficult when I can’t feel creative or looking at my heart rate monitor in a hospital and I’m being held hostage for four days because they can’t figure out what the hell is going on with my heart rhythm.
Yet I feel fine. They try to convince me otherwise and I start to wonder if I’m in a Twilight-Zone episode. Everyone in the hospital – especially the administration idiots in pig masks are messing with my head. Most of all, they’re LIARS. I threaten legal action and they take their masks off.
They can’t wait to sign me out.
But I won’t sign a damn thing. I get back at them for messing with my creative writing. Making them pay for their lack of knowledge.
I know my body better than anyone.
I get home and self-doubt enters my consciousness as I worry about my blood pressure rising every time I take it, 5 times in a row, starting to think I should call 911, when I’m trying to write.
But, I stop and rest and think hard.
Yes – I ate 5 pieces of bacon at the Windmill restaurant. They made a mistake with the “small order” of sausage links and brought five delicious, smelly bacon slices and my wife is on a plane to Denver for a week and she won’t know I’m eating them and the waitress swore allegiance to me and won’t tell.
I love her.
Did she know it could kill you? No. Anyway – It’s not her fault. She doesn’t know I’m a writer. Where are the words?
Follow Øle Ø on Twitter: https://twitter.com/doleolesen