I Will Write Books

Which is the opposite of what I said I was going to do yesterday.

Your head is going to spin after reading this post.  I can't be responsible for any damage to your corporeal self.

According to Philip it is typical of me to announce a decision, generally very dramatically, and then instantly go in the opposite direction.  I would like to deny this.  I would like very much to be the outraged wife who feels betrayed by really poor characterizations of her "usual" (and obviously very reasonable) behavior.

Unfortunately he's totally correct. 

(I must interrupt myself to mention that the word "scud" just came into my head and has whisked my imagination away for a bit of a frolic.)

It seems to be part of my process, when faced with a crossroads, to decide to do the thing I think is the "appropriate" choice.  It is (apparently) necessary for me to decide - FOR CERTAIN - that I will do one thing, and then see how I feel about it once I've told the entire world.  It might not be a very efficient way to go about making good decisions, but I ask you, when you are trying to decide which garment to buy at a super expensive shop*, do you simply examine the garments on the rack and then decide which is best?  Or do you try them all on before deciding?

If any of you routinely buy investment clothing off the rack without trying them on first- tell me how well it works for you?  Is the fit always exactly as you expected?  Do you take them home and love them forever or is there a receipt being held hostage in your wallet giving you a back door to change your mind? 

The moment I wrote yesterday's post, feeling very CONVINCED that I had made the right choice about what writing I should be concentrating on, I stopped by my friend Angela's house.  Mostly because I miss her and needed to chat with her wee baby who is insanely cute...but I think these are the moments in life when you need close friends to bounce things off of.  When I told her what I'd decided, she was, of course, very supportive.

However, she did make some comments that forced me to ask the question:

What choice do you personally think I should make?

Always a loaded question, isn't it?   Because if it turns out to be disastrous...well...the crust of the earth might fall away and take us all into deep space where we will immediately freeze to death.

She thinks I should be writing books. 

She was a close witness to the eye-opening frantically excited book writing I did this summer.  She's a writer herself and I love to discuss all aspects of writing and the writer's life with her.  She reminded me that when I was writing my book I felt as though I was finally doing what I was supposed to be doing.  I am a writer.  A writer of books.  I told her this summer that I even know what kind of writer I want to be.  I want to write serials that are excellently written and complex but not trans-formative necessarily.  Which is to say that I don't want to be the kind of writer that depresses everyone and forces people to scour their souls with each new book.  I want to bring balance, excellent characters, good action, some introspection, some depth, but also some humor and light.

I know.   I don't do that here.  (This is my blog and I don't have to pretend to be balanced here.)

I want to write the kind of books I most love to read.  I want to write stories like Mary Stewart's thrillers.  I want to write books in series form because I adore books that make me love the characters and then let me come back into that same world many times. 

But writing books is, historically, one the the fastest routes to penury.

Angela pointed out that I have work, that Philip and I may not have security but we're hanging on and we're surviving.  She's right, of course.  There was talk of the possibility that there are refinance options out there for people like us who have gone bankrupt- to help keep people from losing their homes.  We can afford our payments now but when the loan balloons we most likely won't be able to keep it.  We need a fixed loan.  Is that too much to ask?  Well, I think it is because we've been consistently 1 month in arrears on our mortgage since going bankrupt.  We can pay the monthly but once you get one month behind in our earning bracket, it is near impossible to catch up.  Anyway, if the  mortgage and the tax issues weren't a constant threat it's true we just might be able to get by just as we are.

And that would simplify the question at hand beautifully:

If I was asked what writing I really want to do right now...I'd have to say that the book series in my head is very clamorous and is talking to me all the time.  I want the time to write it.

That's what I really want to do.  Without regard to money or anything else- I want to write books.


So what about the blogs?

I will keep writing Dustpan Alley until the day I finally give in to my monthly emotional crisis where I don't want to leave myself open to people any more.  I love writing here.  And I will not get rid of Stitch and Boots.  I will not, however, continue to hold myself to a standard number of postings a month which means that I won't put Blogher Ads on it unless I still happen to, without it being difficult, post frequently.   I think I will be more casual about it.  I will treat it more like my personal urban homesteading notebook rather than a pristine - only the best work is posted- guide written mostly for others.  If this works well and takes the pressure off and if it's still looking good and has traffic I will apply for ads and see if it can generate a little extra income without taking up all my time.  But I will not allow it to suck up too much time.

No fashion blog.  (I can just keep putting fashion stuff on my eclectic blog here)

No other blogs.

No dull technical writing.

No side jobs.

Saying "No" to inessentials will be important.

For my new plan to work, things around my house need to be overhauled.  Organization needs to increase by 1000%.  My guys need to take a much more active roll in helping around the house.

I will need to be more disciplined in my approach to cooking and laundry.

The garage needs to be cleaned and cleared to make room for the things that need to be there to fit and be easily accessed so that putting things away is faster and less frustrating.

I will need to get up earlier and go to sleep earlier. 

I will need to develop better time management skills.

In summary:

I will keep my two blogs.  I will not allow them to stress me out.

I will continue to work for Blogher Ads and be damn thankful for it.

I will overhaul my household organization to relieve some of the stress and chaos I feel about it.

I will block out daily time to write "Cricket and Grey"

This now... feels right.

I keep seeing myself as I was at 10 years old, having begun writing poetry quite "seriously" and knowing, before I ever thought of becoming a designer, that I was a writer.  I had two main places I wrote.  I had a small desk that fit in a peculiar little alcove in my bedroom which made it feel like an official office.  I loved my desk and believed that it was my occupational second in command.  I would sit there and write like a professional for hours when my hobby of making miniature realistic foods for my Barbies out of play dough and bulk produce from our pantry became dull.  Pens and paper have always felt like skin and blood. 

I see myself, when I was 11 or 12, sitting up in bed on a rare sick day with my (who knows where it came from) typewriter very seriously making useful lists of character names I might want to use in my writing.  The sound of the keys punching the paper was like church bells to me, a summons to let something magnificent rise from this humble congregation of keys and fingers and wood pulp, to live its own life.  I began to write soap operas because I loved them (and I've never been ashamed to admit it) and I thought they were brilliant.  I could feel the hairs rise on my arms as I made melodramatic characters fight "realistically" and me, unpromising me, was making it all happen!  It felt like the only power I could summon.  By the time I was thirteen I had already secreted my writing dreams away for what I felt was a more practical dream- becoming a chain smoking rich and famous designer adored by all gay men in the world.

I never stopped writing.  I couldn't have stopped if I wanted to because it became my artificial respiration when I would have otherwise died of depression.  From the time I was ten years old until now, with only one dry spell, I have been writing every single day.

It's only taken me thirty years of writing to decide that I will write books.





*For all my love of fashion, even back when my body was pretty nice looking and I could fit in actual real clothes, I never once have bought expensive garments- the kind that could be called "investment pieces".  I've never had that kind of money in hand and when I did I invariably spent it on good cookware instead.