A Process of Words

I often am asked “what’s so hard about writing? I can do such-and-such, it’s easy!”, and I’m sure nearly every writer has had the same questions. Really, the answer to a question like that usually takes about as long as “what do you write about?” and “why do you write?” and “why do you think civilization is going to crash?”.

Writing in itself is easy enough. Any kid can sit down and scribble out a story, and about half of those will be pretty damn decent for being kid’s play. A college student can write a 10,000 word paper, although you’ll hear plenty of bitching and moaning. I’m sure there are plenty of people even who can, eventually, write a book. It’s not that hard to write.

It IS hard to be an author. Yet, try and describe your life to people, and they give you a funny look, and a pat on the back, and then tell you to get a handle on real life. In fact, sometimes I have to agree with them. After all, I have a studio in my house, a place littered with an organized chaos of books, jewelry, art supplies and music, the things that make my life not only tolerable, but downright enjoyable. I spend time every day cooking, reading, catching up with the things going on in the world. I sit in a comfortable chair in my jeans and t-shirt and listen to range of music, from EuroMetal to early classical pieces, and daydream like a child. I am so thoroughly happy with what I do, and where it’s taking me, that I understand how some might not understand the trials and struggle of being professional and an artist.

My schedule is rigorous, usually. I sleep for 8 hours, get up four-five hours before I have to leave for work. Three hours of that is spent writing, following strict word-count standards and guidelines. Once I’ve done the required work on my current WIP, usually about two hours, I’ll move to another project, usually either Shadow and Soul plotting, or Thunder Songs short pieces. After that, I have 30 minutes to get ready for work, and another 30 minutes to get there, a minimum of 8 hours. I work retail, a compromise in money and physical exertion to keep me in shape and allow flexible hours, and during the holidays, I’ll often bring my work home with me, or work 10+ hours. After work, I have 2 hours once I get home. This is when I talk to friends, catch up on my life, browse the internet, and do the daily things that I can’t survive without.

On days off, all I do is write, cook, clean, and maybe spend Friday evening with a group of friends. I don’t date, I don’t attend social events even through work, and I seldom take vacations. The little luxuries I allow myself in life and the pleasure I find in them are the compromise for the bigger things.

It can be hard to get those words down. I ruthlessly critique and second-guess everything I do, and with a background in classical music and literature, I measure myself against the masters, an unfair comparison at best. Beautiful language and intricate plots must be believable, and the common reader has to be able to follow, without the subplots I always have in my head. Thousands of tiny details slip around to trip up the unwary, and at times, I hate writing more than I can imagine hating anything else. There are moments when I want to be one of the in-crowd, to go back to California now and immerse myself in the wine, fine food and fashion of my home state, or to simply take a road-trip through the states. I’ll do all of those things, eventually, in moderation. But I’m impatient, and I want to do them NOW.

Being a writer is easy. I could do everything else I wanted, if all I did was write. But I want to be on that best-seller list, see my name listed against some of the great literature masters, and more than anything, I want to create the sort of stories that once sparked my imagination and pulled me out of a dark valley and into a fairy-tale kingdom.

It’s like everything else. You get what you give.