Ceci n’est pas une blog.

This is not a blog. I am trying to stay on task. To write a blog a week. Sometimes I forget why I made a decision to do such a thing, but I decided, so here I am. So this is really nothing. It makes me think of this:

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I thought of writing a blog called “Let It Bleed” because I am preoccupied with blood lately, in all of its metaphors, but mostly in the way my life seems to “bleed out.” 

I try hard not to perpetuate the negative stereotype of the writer or (gag) “creative type” who is unable to structure her life. I had hoped I would be the type of “creative type” who could drop the kids off at school, run to the coffee shop or library, skip through the butterfly-thick pasture of my giddy imagination for six hours (preferably resulting in three thousand new words each day) and then pull up to my son’s school at 2:20 pm (precisely) and be The Mom. Bey Blade battle, anyone? Tae Kwon Do transportation module? 

I usually make it until about half past six. 

And then I want to get back to the pasture. Then I get a little peevish that people expect food and other incidentals. I have people in my head: passionate, demanding people. Characters. I tell them to wait. I try to tend to real life. And then everyone goes to bed and I usually read someone else’s words. Words. Words. WORDS. I love them. But I need to contain myself. My love. I don’t want to tamp it down, I just want to manage it. I know this is possible. 

I’ve been through the blush of first love before and (even though I may have wanted to) I never charged into Starbucks yelling about how in love I was. So why do I sometimes feel that way about writing? I spoke to an old friend this morning about finding one’s passion. It’s kind of terrifying for everyone involved. My family is occasionally worried by the intensity of my enthusiasm. As am I. 

I have started asking other writers how they manage it. Vivian Arend is terrifically enlightened about all of this and kindly shared some of her wisdom. Productivity is great, but scheduling is imperative. I cannot be writing book six, doing final copy edits on book one, first round edits on book two, fact-checking book three, blogging, futzing with books four and five, and thinking eagerly about the Really Big One (book seven!). Bird by bird. One thing at a time. I know these things. (But the ideas!!! The words!!!)

I actually stood in the shower this morning and missed book six. I started it in December, but had to set it aside to focus on the care-and-feeding of Book One (my first REAL book! Jesus, Megan, FOCUS!) Anyway, it’s all part of the learning curve. Before I had an agent and a book deal I just wrote like Gene Gene The Dancing Machine danced on The Gong Show (with abandon):

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I still will write like that…but at a specific time. Scheduling has its upside. Now that I have promised myself that I will write my heart out for the month of March I am in a state of delightful anticipation. I can get all this editing and blog-amassing and really important worker-bee stuff (synopses! author video!) out of the way and then…MARCH! In March, I will write like a…a…a writer.

One thought on “Ceci n’est pas une blog.

  1. I like the scheduled writing thing. I tend to write compulsively, in long, drawn-out blocks until it’s all out, so to be able to say ‘this month I will write’ means that. But I’m juggling the stupid day jobs and (like you) the kids and the trying to stay sane as the trailing spouse in the academic world, so I don’t know what I’d do without those months or (when I’m less lucky) weeks to my writing.

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