Productivity and Doing What it Takes - IWSG December 2020

 

It's IWSG Day. The goal of this blog hop is to share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds. IWSG is the brainchild of Alex Cavanaugh. To find links to other IWSG contributors, click here.  Thank you to December co-hosts: Pat Garcia, Sylvia Ney, Liesbet @ Roaming About Cathrina Constantine, and Natalie Aguirre

This month’s optional question: Are there months or times of the year that you are more productive with your writing than other months, and why?

Since I hold myself to a regular writing schedule, it’s difficult to assess periods of productivity. I get up on weekdays and write. Sometimes weekends, too. That said, there are less productive times—vacations when I allow myself to sleep late. I spent last week with my daughter out of state. Yes, I know travel was discouraged. But please understand. Thanksgiving was THE holiday for our family of three. Every year upwards of 30 Salernos arrived at our house to four tables extending through two rooms. COVID made sure no one was coming this year, but the biggest hole was caused by a missing one.

I honestly don’t know how my daughter and I would have survived that particular day apart. So, since she had to work, I went. This post—drafted while tightly masked, sitting in the lobby of the hotel where she’s employed while waiting for a ride to the airport, was the first thing I’d written in days.

It’s easy to get distracted during the holidays, which makes me glad for things that hold me accountable—monthly IWSG posts and my writing group every second Thursday. And now, a kind of pandemic bonus: extra free time due to a state-mandated quarantine. Upon my return home, I was required to hunker down for fourteen days or until the COVID-19 test I took Friday came back negative. In planning for that, I took extra time off from work. Fortuitously, I got the all clear the day after I returned, leaving me some unplanned time. So, what to do? Well, for one, regularly scheduled writing will occur after the sun comes up. In addition, I may decorate (or at least make a plan to decorate) for the holidays, which, since my sweet husband was Mr. Christmas, I expect to cause angst. Still, while I can promise I won’t be climbing on the roof to mount a wreath on the chimney, there will be some kind of light display. He would accept nothing less.

In spite of all this year has wrought, I’m trying my darned hardest to remain a glass-half-full kind of gal. Getting some lights up will be a victory. If I get a little teary in the process, it will be a good excuse to sit down at my desk, open up my laptop and attempt to write the sadness out.  

With any luck, that will lead to another burst of productivity.

 

I know so  many of us are missing loved ones. Please accept my wishes to you all for comfort, joy and optimism as we move forward into a new year. 

 

Mr. Christmas's last hurrah.

 

The Why of it--IWSG November 2020

 

 

It's IWSG Day. The goal of this blog hop is to share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds. IWSG is the brainchild of Alex Cavanaugh. To find links to other IWSG contributors, click here. A big thank you to co-hosts for November: Jemi Fraser, Kim Lajevardi, L.G Keltner, Tyrean Martinson, and Rachna Chhabria.

November question: Albert Camus once said, “The purpose of a writer is to keep civilization from destroying itself.” Flannery O’Conner said, “I write to discover what I know.” Authors across time and distance have had many reasons to write. Why do you write what you write?

To my daughter’s annoyance, I’m the kind of reader you have to address several times before I look up saying, “Sorry. What?” My husband used to insist, “You remember, we saw this movie,” when the truth was, no, I didn’t remember because while he watched the movie, I disappeared into a book. How proud I'd be to write a novel that transports someone else the same way. 

Like reading, I immerse myself in writing, but, unlike other parts of my life, when I write, good enough is never good enough. I spend hours striving for images that will strike the reader, trying to create characters who are not contrived, editing a piece once, twice, seventeen times, and then twenty-seven more. Writing well means walking away and returning to tweak, massage and re-write. It means trying harder than I try at anything else. The truth is, its the most honest and focused work I do. I love it and  lose myself to it.

So, why do I write what I write? Because just like when reading, I come back to the real world blinking, a bit foggy, but always aware while I'd been visiting a fictional location, it was a place where I was my best me.

 Why do you write what you write?