OUCH! Really?

So, writing is hard…duh.  I said that last time when I was talking about the difference between writing and sculpting, how us writers have to make the clay.  Writing is even harder when life pulls on you.  It’s so hard to lock yourself in your office and write your 2,000 words when you’re thinking about your bank account balance, mortgage payment, grandfather’s health, how you have to pick up your dry cleaning today, be at Kindercare to get your kid at noon, get to the mall and buy those heels you need for your girlfriend’s wedding next week (not to mention the fact that she’s getting married, and now you are the only single in your group of friends), find a man that respects your life choices, etc…

Today, I received five (count them) bills for my two hour (count that) Emergency Room visit last month.  One of the life’s stressors last year was the fact I didn’t have health insurance.  It says something when you work “don’t fall and break my hip” into my daily prayers.  As of Jan 1, I have health insurance through work.  Breath out.  Yet, today I received five (count them) bills for 1 two-hour hospital stay where I went in with abdominal pain and thought I might have an appendicitis.  The bills are for all different departments of the hospital and for different amounts.  One is $475.00 for Pathology Services.  Another is $175.00 for Radiology.  Another is $65.00 for Dr. Chubar.  Another is $671.00 for the hospital.

What?

Huh?

I check with my insurance company and they said the total bill for a two-hour hospital visit was $5,713.00 (count THAT).  Yes, that is correct, I did not misplace the decimal point.  Five thousand bucks.  I just don’t get it.  There is something wrong here, people.  Something hugely wrong.  I was charged $2,856.50 per hour, $47.61 per minute, etc.  Boy, am I on the wrong side of this equation.  Who does this hospital think they are?  A NFL football team?  I mean, really.  Two hours.

But, getting back to the point, I have read other authors experienced ones, BEST SELLERS (who sell millions of books and tickets to movies just by name recognition, yet still don’t get paid 3G an hour), and they talk about how refreshing it is to escape into their offices and focus on writing, leaving the stressors of the world behind.  Okay, so, since eight this morning, I’ve attempted a half a dozen times to do just that, with no luck, the $700.00 hospital bill looms in my mind.  I’ve tried sitting on the couch quietly, then dashing into my office and slamming the door…no luck.  I’ve tried faking like I’m going to leave (“Bye! I’m heading to the store!  See you in a couple hours!) then snuck back in through my office window, but the hospital bill doesn’t go for sneaky.  I’ve tried demanding that the hospital bill remain in the basket with my other piles of bills, but it doesn’t listen to demands.  I’ve tried begging, but the hospital bill has no pity.  I’ve tried warning it that it won’t get into the hospital bill in the sky, but it has no fear of the after-life.

I’m stuck.  I guess paying for the the bill would alleviate the problem, but really, do I have $700 bucks just sitting around waiting for hospital bills to come in?  No.

So, my solution is drinking.  I’ll…let…you…know…if…that…works…

C-L-A-Y: The Difference Between Sculptors and Writers

Writing is hard…duh.  Yeah, I know.  I know.  I’ve written one complete novel.  I wrote most of it last summer.  I reached a point–where I spent enough time fantasizing about the story and trying to get to know the characters through day-dreaming and night-dreaming and all the information dealing with the story was swirling around in my head and all the stimuli from the world was being filed away in my brain–when I felt I had enough to write the darn thing.  So, I took Stephen King’s advice (from his book ON WRITING, if you haven’t read it…read it, and read it again, and again) and committed to 2,000 words a day.  For the first week (20,000 words for you non-mathletes) the writing came easy.  I logged my daily output on a calendar over my desk (starts and finishes, a running tally) and for the first fourteen days or so I’d reach 2,000 words and hunger to write more but I’d force myself out of the room and try my best to plug-in back into my day.  But it was hard.  All I wanted to do was get back in the room and strike while the iron was hot.  Write 3,000 words, 4,000 words, hell, write the whole darn book in one sitting.  When I wrote my first book, I allowed that impulse to win and I would spend hours locked in my home office pecking away, but I learned from experience that is the wrong thing to do (for me, at least).  The right thing for me is to cut myself off at 2,000 words, which had the effect of leaving the idea unfinished, so the next day I wasn’t starting from scratch but continuing from the previous days tangent.  Sometimes this works, and other times it doesn’t.

This latest book, after the fourteen or so days the writing became much much harder.  I’d originally sat down (for full disclosure, day 1 wasn’t page one, I’d been writing scenes and working with the idea of the book for a while–scribbling dialogue and creating scenes for months, trying to excavate my story) with my excitement and expectation of writing a novel fueling my words, and truthfully those first couple days, the synapses were clicking and my output was excellent.  I cut myself off at 2,000 words and couldn’t wait to get back in my office the next day.  Through rereading my work, I have discovered the writing I did in those first fourteen days was really right on.  I probably won’t have to edit it much at all.  Then came day fifteen (yesterday) and sixteen (today).  Suddenly, the writing became hard.  Suddenly, my writing tank went from a capacity of 4,000, 5,000 words to me coasting on fumes at 1,000, 1,500 words.  I literally was typing away on a scene and internalizing: this sucks, you suck, you’ll never finish, ugh, what are you trying to say, that dialogue is terrible, no one talks like that, YAWN, Faulkner can’t wait until you get to hell so he can laugh at you.  Not good.  But I stuck with it.  I wrote 2,500 words (violated my rule because I was off from work and bored) yesterday.  And just finished 2,217 words today.  In rereading my work from the last two days, it’s less consistently good writing.  Some parts are good, others I’ll need to tweak to make good, and other parts are really bad.  I found I really got into a flow on both days at around word 1,500, so the home-stretch is strong.  Don’t know why that is.  But that is okay.  I’ve reached my goal (and this blog is about 1,000 words, so I’ve surpassed my goal–presently, I’m weak with hunger–there’s chicken salad in the fridge!–and about to go blind) and that is what’s most crucial.

So, what have I learned.  When you make a commitment to a project, a 2,000 word a day goal is doable.  I will close the door on my office and not leave until I have typed that 2,000th word.  The important part of this writing equation, I think, is you have to be ready to write the novel (or screenplay, or short story, or whatever).  I spent a while (maybe a year since I came up with the idea for the novel) mining for inspiration, writing scenes and testing them out (in library groups, with first readers; focusing on characters or capturing a tone, a voice, etc, through which you find out what resonates with readers and with yourself…what rings true) to discover my story and my characters, day-dreaming and fantasizing and absorbing life, until I felt I had enough clay to mold my work.  (Remember, the difference between writers and sculptors, is we must create the clay).  Once I did, I committed to 2,000 words a day.  Not 2,000 brilliant words or 2,000 focused words.  Or even 2,000 words that will end up in the final product.  Just 2,000 words.  Because as writers, we measure output by content, not time.  Once again, not exceptional content, though some of it will be, and others will not.

I can’t speak for anyone else, but this is my formula (based on Stephen King’s formula) and so far it’s worked for me.  In ten to fourteen days I’ll have a novel-length manuscript (closer to a Sallis book than a Foster Wallace, mind you) which I can then edit, cutting or tweaking the bad or out of scope words and keeping the brilliant and focused words–and have a finished product.  It will be hard.  It is much like committing to exercising for thirty minutes a day.  Somedays the time flies by so quickly you can’t wait until tomorrow, other days your checking your watch every other stride, believing if you run one more step you’re heart will seize up on you and you’ll die and no one will discover you in the forest before your body is cold and stiff and has been ravaged by wild animals (maybe that’s only a personal fear when I’m running) but in the end, if you reach your daily goals, the end will appear around the bend, and take it from me (and what I created last summer isn’t even publishable) it is an exhilarating feeling!