On Writing

The last two weeks since the kids went back to school from the holidays have led to an odd fall out of scheduling. Or, more accurately described, made me realize that no one besides I in this family really likes keeping schedules.

I like them. No, I love them. I relish the planning of a set dinner time (never happens), a smooth and speedy departure time (just as rare), and an organized day.

I know I haven't always been this way. I guess it was after our family of two became three, then four, that I realized if you don't plan for certain things to happen, they just never do.

And for years, I was fine with pushing my own time into the background. If dinner became a late meal because other parts of the day ran over, then it was ok - I can read that book tomorrow.

It was only a few months ago that I really started scheduling something that meant a lot to me, and that couldn't be put off every day. That was my writing time. My "me" time. In November after the golf season ended for the year, Sean started taking the kids to school in the morning. That meant every day, 6:40 til 7:50 I was all alone, just me, my coffee, and my words. And it was a beautiful thing.

Then came Christmas break. And kids, 24/7. And husband, 24/7. And no alone time.

Then January came, but with it Sean's return to almost daily meetings - and still no morning "me" time. My scheduled day, which I treasured all throughout November, is a thing of the past.

I do not write well with others. I marvel when I hear writers talk about how they go off to the coffee shop and write. Even more, they get together. They *write* together.

When I'm alone, the words come. I won't say I don't notice they passage of time, or that the words flow out of me as water from a buibbling stream, or any other sparkling literary phrase, but they come. About 4 pages an hour, give or take. Between that morning hour and another 30 minutes squeezed in at the end of the day, I can get 2000 words out of myself in a day and not be stressing over it.

But put anyone else in the room with me and I freeze. Trying to write yesterday at Books A Million was an excercise in torture.

So today, I did one of my favorite things. I rearranged furniture. But today, I was setting up a desk in the guest room. A writing space, just for me.

This room has a door. With a lock. It now has a folding table, with my laptop and a full sized keyboard. And did I mention a door, that locks?

I pulled Sean aside when I was done and told him that when I go in there, and shut the door, no one gets to bother me unless there is death - or at least serious bloodshed - involved. And that bothering me without said bloodshed will result in .... well, bloodshed.

And then I shut myself in there and wrote. And it was good.

Sean is out, Samantha is over at Nanny's, and Montgomery is heading out into the world to play with friends. And I'm going to shut myself in my room, lock the door, and enjoy the freedom of no one looking over my shoulder, while I write words I'm not ready for anyone to read.

Stephen King, you were right on this one. There's times when a shut door opens the window of the imagination. If that's all it takes, my family will have to learn to live with this much of a schedule at least. Mom gets an hour a day behind shut doors. Dinner can wait.