Good morning. Since I took the job at Monster's school, I've had the opportunity to meet lots of people. Most of them Moms. Some of them work, some of them don't. Lots of them volunteer at the school like I do. (There's lots of stuff to do.)
I've always worked. All my life. I wouldn't know what to do if I didn't. Writing is a job. So that's what I do now. I had an interesting question from one of the Moms last week. She asked, "What do you do when you're NOT writing."
I kind of laughed. "What do you mean? I clean my house." And you guys know what I'm talking about here.
She said, "No. Not like that. What do you do for fun?"
I said, "I write."
She said, "No, I mean, don't you do other stuff? Like scrap book, or bake cookies, or paint. Surely, you can't write all the time. Doesn't that get boring?"
How could I explain it to her. Even when I was working all those years, even when I worked 2 and 3 jobs at a time, I always wrote. (I have a cedar chest full of manuscripts -- all of them garbage, but mine nonetheless.)
I can't NOT write. I think if someone took away my keyboard I would die. (Yes, the same goes for pen and paper, chalk, crayon, pencil, hieroglyphics.) I cannot ever think of my life in any circumstance and not write. Sure, I may not have written every day when I was younger, sure, I have many many unfinished manuscripts, but I always wrote. It's not something I DO, but rather, it's part of WHO I am.
It sustains my soul.
I'm sure if I searched I could find oh-so-many-quotes on the subject with words to describe it like passion, fulfillment, joy. It completes me.
When I was younger I always maintained, that when a job stopped being fun, I would quit. No matter the pay, the hours, the benefits. And I did. If I can't have fun at work, then why bother. I'm not going to my grave like my forebears before me, working 40 hours a week at a job I despise just to put bread on the table and hope for two weeks off in the summer. Sure I made money, sometimes lots of money, but that's not what it's all about for me. I've also been poor as a church mouse and happier than I could ever be.
Now that I'm here, in this job as a writer/author/publisher, sure it gets to be trying at times. Sure, working through a block, or a formatting issue makes me want to scream sometimes, but I could never give it up. Never Never Never. Only when it stops being fun.
Writing sustains me. Without it, I wouldn't know who I am. And just for fun, I did another experiment. We know that I just finished writing the end on my latest novel. It's now with critters and readers and I just have to wait until it comes back until I can further it along. I officially sent it out on Monday the 17th. For the rest of that week, I cleaned my house. (Yes, it took that long.) Once that was finished, I looked around for something to do.
I thought about reading a book. (How long has it been since I read for pleasure and not critique?)
I thought about going shopping and picking out some new clothes. (My wardrobe is atrocious. I should be on that show What NOT to Wear.)
I thought about ripping the wallpaper down in my bathroom and painting.
I thought about rearranging the furniture again.
Guess what I did? Nothing. I watched the Downton Abbey marathon a few Sundays ago and that was pretty much it on my fun-scale. Monday morning I found myself back on the computer, scratching out an outline for another title.
Some people say I'm dedicated to my craft. Some people say I'm crazy. Some people say I'm boring because that's all I do is write.
I say I'm sustaining my soul.
Tell me -- Can you not write? Does it sustain you? Is there something else you'd rather be doing than writing? (And yeah, we all have dreams of winning the lottery and traveling the world, but after that? What then?)
Anne Gallagher (c) 2014
Showing posts with label complacency. Show all posts
Showing posts with label complacency. Show all posts
Monday, March 3, 2014
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Complacency in Our Reading
On Monday I talked about how some New York authors have become complacent in their writing. Today, I'd like to discuss when we become complacent in our reading. Or rather, how I became complacent in my reading.
When I was a kid, we had 3 television stations. No cable, no DVD, no VCR. No cell phones, no game-boys or Wii. When my parents bought the beach house, they decided they weren't even going to allow us a tv. So what was there for us kids to do?
Well, my brothers had friends in the village (there were no girls my age) so there was nothing for me to do BUT read. And read I did. Anything I could get my hands on. In the beginning it was always about horses. Misty of Chincoteague, Black Beauty, National Velvet. Then one of my mother's friends left a Harlequin romance behind The Honey is Bitter by Violet Winspear, and I was hooked on romance.
Soon after that I found what is now known as a bodice-ripper, about a Scottish Highlander and his lass. And thus began my love affair with historical romance. For over twenty years, that was all I read. Okay, that was MAINLY what I read. I delved into poetry for a bit because I am a classic romanticist, but for the most part I was totally into historical romance. Transported in time and place, I was all in.
After I graduated high school and began living at the beach house all year round, I worked two, sometimes, three jobs, but I always managed to have some time in the afternoons off -- to lay on the beach, get a great tan, and read my lurid love stories.
So from 1976 until about 2004 (28 years for those who don't do math) New York pubbed romance writers of the historical genre were all I read. Pretty sad, huh? Over those decades, I would say I accumulated about 10,000 books under my belt.
When I started writing, agents, bloggers, big names in the biz, would say "Familiarize yourself with your genre -- Read what's out there -- Get a feel for what's publishing now" Okay, but I already did that. So much so, I felt I was drowning in it. And I also knew, that when I began writing, I didn't want to be like all those other writers. I wanted to write what I wanted to read and no one was writing it, so I decided to do that instead.
In the last couple of years, I've branched out of my genre and started reading things that wouldn't have ever been on my radar when I was younger -- literary fiction, mystery, thriller, women's fiction. This summer I want to dive into some classics.
These days, I don't read nearly even one tenth of what I used to. (Back at the beach house, I could get through a book a day.) I think now if I get through a book a month I'm doing something. But that, in turn, has made me very selective about what I reach for.
Tell me -- What do you read? Do you stay strictly in your genre? Or do you branch out? Do you not read anything in your genre because you're afraid of finding out your plot has already been done? (Truthfully, this is one of the reasons I don't read in my genre very much anymore.)
I've been working in the yard this week trying to get most everything done before it gets too hot. By the time I get home, I'm on the couch. I do read your comments and your posts, but sorry to say, I just don't have the energy to comment.
Anne Gallagher (c) 2013
When I was a kid, we had 3 television stations. No cable, no DVD, no VCR. No cell phones, no game-boys or Wii. When my parents bought the beach house, they decided they weren't even going to allow us a tv. So what was there for us kids to do?
Well, my brothers had friends in the village (there were no girls my age) so there was nothing for me to do BUT read. And read I did. Anything I could get my hands on. In the beginning it was always about horses. Misty of Chincoteague, Black Beauty, National Velvet. Then one of my mother's friends left a Harlequin romance behind The Honey is Bitter by Violet Winspear, and I was hooked on romance.
Soon after that I found what is now known as a bodice-ripper, about a Scottish Highlander and his lass. And thus began my love affair with historical romance. For over twenty years, that was all I read. Okay, that was MAINLY what I read. I delved into poetry for a bit because I am a classic romanticist, but for the most part I was totally into historical romance. Transported in time and place, I was all in.
After I graduated high school and began living at the beach house all year round, I worked two, sometimes, three jobs, but I always managed to have some time in the afternoons off -- to lay on the beach, get a great tan, and read my lurid love stories.
So from 1976 until about 2004 (28 years for those who don't do math) New York pubbed romance writers of the historical genre were all I read. Pretty sad, huh? Over those decades, I would say I accumulated about 10,000 books under my belt.
When I started writing, agents, bloggers, big names in the biz, would say "Familiarize yourself with your genre -- Read what's out there -- Get a feel for what's publishing now" Okay, but I already did that. So much so, I felt I was drowning in it. And I also knew, that when I began writing, I didn't want to be like all those other writers. I wanted to write what I wanted to read and no one was writing it, so I decided to do that instead.
In the last couple of years, I've branched out of my genre and started reading things that wouldn't have ever been on my radar when I was younger -- literary fiction, mystery, thriller, women's fiction. This summer I want to dive into some classics.
These days, I don't read nearly even one tenth of what I used to. (Back at the beach house, I could get through a book a day.) I think now if I get through a book a month I'm doing something. But that, in turn, has made me very selective about what I reach for.
Tell me -- What do you read? Do you stay strictly in your genre? Or do you branch out? Do you not read anything in your genre because you're afraid of finding out your plot has already been done? (Truthfully, this is one of the reasons I don't read in my genre very much anymore.)
I've been working in the yard this week trying to get most everything done before it gets too hot. By the time I get home, I'm on the couch. I do read your comments and your posts, but sorry to say, I just don't have the energy to comment.
Anne Gallagher (c) 2013
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