Children: Out and Proud (A Re-post).

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.

Writing, Full Time…a Day in the Life.

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.

6:00:  Eat. 

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.

Deal with the Pain

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!”

HELLO?

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?

American writer Ernest Hemingway (1899 – 1961) working at a portable table while on a big game hunt in Kenya, September 1952. (Photo by Earl Theisen/Getty Images)

Reblogged from: https://storiesofoleo.blog/2019/07/10/challenges-in-writing-at-sixty-or-older/

Follow Øle Ø on Twitter: https://twitter.com/doleolesen