A Typical Writing Day...

One of the most common questions I get in blog interviews is something along the lines of “What’s a typical writing day for you like?” Usually I end up saying, “I mostly write at night.” I say this because I figure most people that ask only want to hear about the writing part of the writing day. Or I assume they have this vision of a writer alone in a room, thinking writerly thoughts, or going for walks, thinking about writerly things, and I don't want to ruin that vision. It looks so calm and peaceful in my head.

But I think a lot of writers are like me—they have jobs or kids or jobs and kids or other responsibilities that they work their writing around. Me? I have kids. The day I documented this, they were 5 and 1-day-shy-of-4.

So, right, I planned to document my writing day. Partly because of this question, but also because I was kind of curious….I mean, what do I really do all day? So I set this past Monday as the day to document because Kid #2 is in preschool that day, which means it’s technically a “writing day.” At least more so than a Tuesday.

I currently have copy-edits for my 2013 book. I had already finished one pass and was ready to address the items that I had sticky-noted. On Sunday night, it looked like this:

Sunday night, it also became obvious that Kid #1 would not be going to school (for reasons I shall leave to the imagination). I thought about postponing the blogging, but then I realized that since January there’s pretty much been a 50% chance that one kid would be home from school/get sent home from school/be of questionable disposition. So I guess this qualifies as “typical.” So. Here goes.

The upside of not having to get Kid #1 to the bus stop before sunrise is that I don’t have to wake up at 6:20. I turn off my alarm.

Kid #2 wakes up:

Kid #1 wakes up:

Yay.

7:15: The kids want breakfast. I assume that the fact that Kid #1 wants breakfast is a good sign. I give them breakfast. I answer emails.

8:10: Kid #2 announces he wants to be a “seeker” when he grows up, which, according to him, is a person who looks at other people and runs away when they see him. I inform him that the word he is looking for is “creepy,” and he cannot, under any circumstance, be creepy when he grows up. This quickly deteriorates into an argument over whether or not he can, in fact, be anything he wants when he grows up.

8:40: We get in the car.

8:41: For reasons I will spare you (but let’s just say that Kid #1 wanting breakfast was actually NOT a good sign), we get out of the car. When we get back in the car, my daughter is carrying a plastic bag. I actually did take a picture of this, but I feel like in about 6 years she might find this blog post, and if she doesn’t hate me by then, this might push her over the edge.

But you can imagine.

As I’m taking this picture that I’m choosing not to post, I flash back to driving with my grandpa who would make my cousin (who had a history of carsick-ness) wear a plastic bag with the handles over his ears. I start to giggle. I don’t stop giggling until we arrive at preschool. Kid #1 is not amused.

Drop Kid #2 off at preschool. Preschool starts at 9. It would appear that we are 7 minutes late. But I’m usually 10 minutes early, so really it’s more like 17 minutes late. I hate being late. Deep breaths.

9:30-11: I put a movie on for Kid #1 and plow through 60 pages of copy edits. Not bad.

11:15: I research pay phones (it’s relevant to the manuscript, I swear)

11:40: Leave to pick up Kid #2 from preschool. Kid #1 carries a plastic bag.

12:24: My mother texts me with some News and to discuss her feelings about said News. It’s a situation very near and dear to our hearts, and we’ve been following the coverage closely over the last few weeks.

Notice she’s on a first name basis with Peyton Manning. Notice also the typo.

Early afternoon: attempt to keep kids separate so Kid #1 does not infect Kid #2, especially since Kid #2’s birthday is tomorrow. Tell Kid #2 not to touch Kid #1 because if he does he’ll get sick and he won’t get to eat birthday cake. Kid #2 says he already touched her and starts to cry. Attempt to take back words while simultaneously explaining probability to a crying almost-4-year-old. Fail.

Kid #1 says, “I don’t get cake?” Cries.

2:30: I research tox screens (also relevant to the manuscript) through the crying

Take kids outside. Kid #1 sits on my lap because she can’t do much else at the moment. As the youngest, Kid #2 is used to getting first dibs on the lap.

Kid #2 retaliates by pulling the tulips from the garden:

I retaliate by throwing out his lollipop (lest you think this shocking display of immaturity is a one-time thing, sadly, it is not)

Kid #1 falls asleep. I research signs of dehydration (not relevant to the manuscript)

Dinner, baths, bed.

7:30-10:30: I work on copyedits. Then I realize Kid #2 is going to be up at the crack of dawn for his birthday and I need to have my game face on. I stop working.

Not bad. Not done, but not bad, all things considered.

So. There it is.

How about you?

In Which I Turn (slightly) Sentimental

Those of you who know me know I’m not much of a sentimentalist. I come from a long line of stiff-upper-lips and awkward hugs. Though I’m getting moderately better at the hugs.

Anyway, Kid #2 started preschool today. I have been looking forward to this day for many months, mostly because I now have 9 hours of daylight a week for writing. Maybe even for blogging consistently. (Okay, I’m probably getting ahead of myself there.)

So anyway, being that I’m not overly sentimental and I’ve been looking forward to preschool for a while, I had a good idea of how today would go. Kid #1 just went off to Kindergarten, and I figured preschool drop-off would go roughly the same: hug, goodbye, smile, wave. Jump up and down in celebration (kidding (kind of)).

All was going according to plan, and Kid #2 wasn’t obsessing too much about exactly how many minutes it would be until I came back, which was an added bonus. Until I reached around and unbuckled him from his car seat as we waited for his teacher to come get him in the drop-off line. He hopped out of his seat, leaned over mine, and said, “It’s okay if I’m scared, right?”

So I said, “Yes, it’s okay if you’re scared.”

Then he saw his teacher coming, gave me a hug, and said, “Here I go!”

Goodbye, smile, wave. Keep it together, keep it together, keep it together.

Anyway, I’m not entirely sure why I’m sharing this on a blog about writing, other than I think it’s kind of perfect. For everything.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I only have 4 more hours of daylight writing left this week.

Plots, Logic, and the Tooth Fairy

Kid #1 lost her first tooth last week. This is relevant, I swear (or, at least as relevant as anything else I write on here). For the record, I never told her there was a tooth fairy. I also never told her there wasn’t a tooth fairy. Mostly because, like everything else, I couldn’t decide on the right thing to tell her, so instead I said nothing. Which in turn makes my parenting like one weird social experiment.

But anyway.

Her world is full of books and shows and other kids, and so there is knowledge of a tooth fairy. And here’s where things get interesting, because she’s kind of at that in-between stage. Like, she doesn’t just believe things. She’s at that stage where she’s trying to reason out the world around her. It’s like watching evolution or something, but not.

So she’s sitting in the backseat of the car, looking at her tooth inside a Ziploc bag (because we were mooching dinner off my parents at the time of tooth-losing (also, at what age does one become too old to do that?)), and she starts in with The Reasoning. It occurs to me that The Reasoning is pretty similar to deciding which kind of book to write:

“So I’m going to put this under my pillow, and then there will be money.” *insert look of terror* “Do you think the tooth fairy checks my pillow every night?” (Horror)

“Or do you think the wand has money inside of it, and she points it at my tooth and zaps it into money?” (Fantasy)

Then, after some more thinking…

“Hey, I think you need to practice. If you want to be the tooth fairy.” AHA! She’s got it. Also, I’m a little proud. (Contemporary)

Then: “But can you practice on another tooth?” (Okay, she doesn’t quite get it) Right. Because obviously I’m out of practice and my magic might screw up the whole turn-her-tooth-into-money thing. (Magical realism)

But hey, that works, too, right? Just a different kind of book. As long as the logic is consistent….

“No, I think there’s a fairy that flies around outside and all the teeth turn into money.” (Paranormal)

Okay, we’re going with that.

So, yeah, we put the tooth in a bag so I’d be able to find it and stuck it under her pillow. And while she slept, I took the bag away and put money in its place.

Except the next morning she examined the money, narrowed her eyes, and said, “Hey, what happened to the bag it was in?”

Crap.

Writing Trip. Also, Bears.

So, I just got back from here:

Coincidentally, I have an idea for a story that takes place here. Okay, so really this isn’t such a coincidence after all, since I planned the trip after the idea. And even though I’ve been to the mountains and I’ve gone hiking before, I haven’t been hiking in these particular mountains, and I definitely hadn’t been hiking recently.

Anyway. I quickly remembered some stuff about the mountains.

Like that you can hear the wind coming.

And that the temperature feels at least ten degrees cooler.

And that you shouldn’t hike without bug spray.

And that I am seriously out of shape.

I learned a lot of new things, too. Of particular note, I learned about bears. I wasn’t planning to learn about bears. But there had been a lot of recent sightings nearby, and even though I was pretty sure black bears didn’t typically attack humans, I was still concerned. Very concerned.

Because animals do not like me.

Really.

Name any animal. Ten bucks says it doesn’t like me.

(Side note: a wild turkey once attacked me. Completely unprovoked. Before that day, it had never even occurred to me that such a thing could happen.)

Coincidentally (or not so coincidentally given the increased bear sightings), there was a pamphlet in our room outlining what to do in the unlikely event that a bear seems *overly interested* in you. This made me happy.

Rule #1: Do Not Run.

Crap. Historically, this has always been my plan of action when it comes to animal encounters.

That wild turkey attack? I ran like hell.

Anyway, back to the pamphlet.

There was this whole series of steps for avoiding a bear attack, and each subsequent step was like, But if THAT doesn’t work, slowly back away. And if THAT doesn’t work, make yourself appear bigger and yell or growl or something… And the last step, if none of the previous things worked and the bear did, in fact, attack, suggested that you fight back. Aggressively. You know, just in case you were getting attacked by a bear and thought, maybe I’ll just gently tap it a couple times and see how that goes.

Anyway, I digress.

It was a productive trip. The writing idea grew. And so did my repertoire of “animal encounter” tips. Run like hell. In the event of failure, defend self.

Aggressively.

So, It's Summer

This was our first week of summer vacation. I wasn’t sure what to expect, exactly, but I assumed it would involve some combination of sleeping in (it didn’t) and extreme heat (it did).

But. In exciting first-week-of-summer news, I got to see this:

An early advance copy of Fracture.

Okay, so, this is the back of said early advance copy. There’s no cover yet, but it has my name, and the book name, and the publisher’s name, and the publication date.

Which, for the record, is January 3, 2012

This is really just more evidence to support my theory that Time is Weird, because winter and snow and New Year’s seem ridiculously far away, but suddenly, January 3^rd seems really, really soon.

Go figure.

And I can’t wait to share the cover.

Because I saw a preview.

And I love it.

But anyway, back in the Time is Weird category, I’m about to turn 30. Chronologically and stuff, it makes sense. I mean, I’m 29, and before that I was 28, and I do have, like, 2 kids, and they keep getting older, too. So it seems kind of normal. Except my mom keeps FREAKING OUT about it and will randomly shout, “Oh my God, I have a 30-year-old kid!” Just in case I didn’t realize. Yeah, I get it. Thanks, Mom.

But it occurs to me that there’s no getting around the fact that I’m really, for real, an adult now. And maybe I should, like, try not to say like so much in my blog posts.

I promise to try.