[Editor’s note: Yesterday, on her terrific blog about writing, writer/editor Lisa Romeo talked about Louise DeSalvo’s piece in this space and added some tips of her own. Thanks, Lisa, for giving me permission to post them here as well.]
Just the other day I was passing along tips to some writing class students who have school-age children and were explaining (that is, complaining) how little time this leaves them to write. Then today I came across this tough-love post by Louise DeSalvo. To her advice, I’ll just add a few of my own tips; some are different, and some amplify what she advises:
- No (more) volunteering for school activities that take more than an hour or two a month. Or how about just: NO.
- Accept that you will have a dirtier (or at least a messier) house than you probably would like – OR hire someone to clean it.
- Write anywhere. A lot of my stuff has been rough-drafted on the bleachers at baseball games, in the car waiting for kids to finish up at an activity, on the patio while the kids (when little) were playing nearby, even in the ladies room at insufferably long school and family functions!
- Decide what you can slice out of your parenting life in order to get a writing life. Five years ago, when my youngest was in first grade, I decided I could do without the daily chats with other moms while waiting for our kids at pick-up time after school. I still had to arrive 15 minutes before the bell rang to get a parking space, but I decided to sit in my car and write – bingo, an extra hour or so a week.
- As DeSalvo says, ALWAYS call it “work.” I realized this important distinction when asking a non-writing relative to watch the kids; and get the kids used to that terminology too. Mom’s working. Period.
- Break free of the idea that you always have to write…at the keyboard, in your office, seated in that great armchair, with your favorite pen.
- Get a writing accountability buddy – another parent writer who will exchange daily emails consisting of just one line about how many words or pages you each wrote that day; no venting allowed.
Now – what are you still doing here?
To get a book underway, you have to fully commit to it.
Gretchen Rubin
AD: How are you so unbelievably prolific? [Karen’s new novel is due in November.] Stealing Athena was only two years after the book that came before it, is that correct? Seriously I am in awe. How did you get another book out of your body so quickly?
KE: Right. Well, The Gargoyle was your first novel. Correct?
A long time ago, before I wrote my first novel, I despaired of ever having the time to undertake such a large and arduous project. I had two small children and my days (nights too, come to think of it) seemed hopelessly fractured; my time, or what there was of it, felt like it had been broken into the small, useless increments: fifteen minutes here, twenty there. An hour that was all my own was a rare and prized occurrence. How I was to cobble together a writing life from all these pieces was inconceivable to me. I could not work in shards, I thought. I needed some great and unbroken expanse of time, time like a freshly opened bar of chocolate: smooth, rich, and mine, mine, mine. But it was not to be, not then, and maybe not ever. If I wanted to write, I was going to have to readjust my thinking and my expectations. Instead of that glorious, unblemished chocolate bar, I had a bag of M & Ms: discrete nuggets of time that I would have to learn to use.