Guys, I was excellently productive yesterday. I wrote 8 and 1/2 pages for Places. And it wasn't all bad. I mean, it is most definitely rough and most of the time I feel like I have no idea what I'm doing, but I have 8 and 1/2 pages down. And E. kinda snickered at one of the jokes, and it's not even a comedy! It was a good day.
I have a job next week, which I'm both excited and bummed about. I've gotten into a real routine here, being unemployed. I get up, check my email and stuff, write a blog post [I used to exercise during this time. I considering blogging the day's warm up for my fingers. Also I hate exercising], and then I move onto the day's writing project. Sometimes I watch TV. For research. Ok, I'm not Josh James. I'm not up at 5:30 and at my desk [which is the dining room table. I'm sure E. will appreciate when I finally make up my mind about which desk chair I want] by 6:00. That sounds worse than exercising. But during this past month or so I've finished a draft on The Garden, nailed down a TV pilot and sent it to readers, and plotted and started another pilot. I will never be that productive while working. I don't think I wrote a word when I was working on that feature in July.
Writing usually makes me very nervous. HW Guy thinks it's endearing. I think it's neurotic. It is, sometimes, stressful. But I cannot wait until this is something that I get to do for a living, and I'm determined to make it happen.
There are trade offs. I've been noticing more... writerly behaviors. I am typically a very social person, but writing requires being alone for several hours a day. There was one day last week where E. left early for work and didn't get back until I was in bed. Between a short phone call and a trip to the coffee shop, I think that day I had a grand total of ninety seconds of human interaction. Sometimes E. will get home while I'm thinking through a story, and I'm sure it appears that I'm distant and quiet while really I'm just still working. I'll find myself chatting up strangers at the RedBox. I'll fake distress at the self scanner in the grocery so an associate will come help me. I'll hug random people. [Ok, I made those last two up. And the RedBox one--she started talking to me first.] I'm just saying, this lifestyle. It changes you. I just hope it's changing me into a better writer.
I want to work--I need to work. But this past month reminded me of how every other career I ever planned for myself was always to support me while I was writing, whether it was nursing, education, or publishing, it was always just a day job until I could be a full time writer. And I discarded each one of those, because I didn't really want to be a nurse or a teacher or a publisher. I wanted to write. And I love working in the film industry, it's tons of fun and I can't imagine what else I would do, but at the end of the day, if I had to choose, all I want to do is write.