Baby Steps and Semantics

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On Saturday, I corralled my daughter and made/re-scheduled all of her necessary appointments for the next two weeks (leading up to prom and graduation). With the exception of one appointment where we needed to await a return call, I was able to check those things off my list.

Then, while waiting for laundry, I tackled some piles in the basement, creating a really nice feeling of accomplishment -- at least until I realized it was late afternoon and no writing had taken place.

Monday kicked off my first class-free week (with the exception of a final I'm administering tomorrow) of the summer. Because I didn't have any class preparation to do, I forced myself to do an errand I'd been putting off before making my daily trip to Starbucks. Along the way, I took care of another overdue task -- one that had hung in limbo while I considered possible solutions. That evening, I sorted and cleared some of the paper clutter on the counter in my office. Excited by my progress, I wrote all of these accomplishments on my calendar, hatching a new plan that involved tackling one overdue task each day.

Yesterday? I wrote, had lunch with a friend I hadn't seen in almost a year, graded papers, made dinner, chipped away at the non-creative bits that are part of writing and blog maintenance and took care of things like dinner and laundry. In other words, a normal day, with no bonus tasks.

After I first berated myself, then considered redefining "overdue" (did that lunch "count"?) and finally thought about giving up and chalking Saturday and Monday up to sheer exuberance, I decided I was being silly.

Even as I wrote those tasks on the calendar on Monday, I worried that days would slip by without progress on my new goal. And do you know what that's called?

Life.

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Any progress toward a goal is good news, whether that progress is step-by-step or in fits and starts. Saturday and Monday lit a fire under me, reminding me that small steps can lead to the desire to do more. I know this is true when it comes to saving money and writing and class planning, and I even write about it (often!) when it comes to organization.

Yet, as soon as I backslide, I forget this.

So...onward. Since I'm a writer and I know that finding the word that captures precisely what I want to say is important, I am going to redefine "overdue." Now that I think about it, the phrase "something I've been meaning to do" more accurately describes the lingering tasks I'm thinking of, without begging the question of how long it has to have been on the list to qualify as "overdue." And now that I mention it, I know exactly what that task du jour is going to be today.

How about you? What have you been meaning to do? Is today the day?

So, What do You Write?

Photo: Luis Llerena via Unsplash.com

When I first started writing, I wrote nonfiction. Exclusively. I worked on one article at a time and never had to worry about getting characters or story lines confused.

When I began trying my hand at fiction, it was as part of a writing class. I worked on one piece at a time, and the stories were short. I had a job and a small child, and I wrote in small snippets of time during which it was easy to keep one story straight, whether it was fiction, non-fiction or an essay.

Novels came later, and since I still had the job and the child, I continued to work in snippets of time. Though I spent most of my writing time working on my novel-in-progress, I found time to work on articles over the summer, and even occasionally during the school year. Somewhere along the way, I picked up blogging, and started working that in, too.

When I retired, one of my goals was to blog on a regular basis. Four years later, I have a weekly schedule I stick to, writing five to six blogs each week and posting Monday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday in three different locations.

That's when it got complicated.

Some days, I blog ahead of time so that my posts are all ready to go on their assigned days. Other days, I'm still figuring out what I want to write about early -- or even later -- in the day, and the blogs hang over my head until I write and post them. Once they're finished, I have time for discretionary writing.

When that time rolls around, I sometimes have trouble figuring out what I want to write. Right now, for example, I'm working on new story for one novel, revisions on a second and the occasional non-fiction article for one of the online or print publications that regularly accepts my work. Some days, one project is foremost in my mind, so that's where I put my energies. Other days, they jockey for position or, worse yet, refuse to be prodded into submission like so many unruly teenagers.

I told the barista -- a fellow writer --
that I was going to work
on revisions. 

Eventually, as most parents/supervisors do, I manage to coerce one of them into cooperation and actually make
progress. Sometimes, I need to leave home to do this.

Most writers I know work on multiple projects -- some simultaneously, others sequentially. Tomorrow, you'll meet my friend Rachel, who's primarily a novelist, but has also just put together an adult coloring book that fits with the theme of her soon-to-be-released novel. A talented illustrator, Rachel divides her time among a number of writing and illustrating projects -- and several pseudonyms as well. I don't know how she does it all. (Maybe she'll tell us tomorrow).

So, when you ask a writer what she writes, don't be surprised if the answer is "a little bit of everything." Unless she's famous, chances are good that she divvies her available time up among a number of projects, perhaps feeling as though she never really has enough time for any of them. Who knows? Maybe famous writers do this, too.

Perhaps some day I'll find out.

The Cure for the Common Frenzy

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I am generally an upbeat person, but lately, I've been feeling tired and a bit like I need a life preserver. I'm used to being busy, and although I'm busier than normal, that didn't feel like the whole problem.

Never satisfied not to analyze, I kept wondering and working at the knot, trying to figure out what tangled threads were at its core. Then last Friday, a beautiful, sunny day on the cusp of the weekend, as I drove down route 83, my endless to-do list scrolling through my head, it finally dawned on me.

I don't have any white space.

No, I haven't gone over the edge, or gone under completely (glub, glub). White space -- that beautiful stretch of calendar page that is blank and free from all scheduled obligation -- is my cure for the common frenzy. And while my days for the past couple of weeks have had patches of white space -- enough for a nap or a maybe even a decadent night of mindless television -- what I needed was a meadow-sized space. A whole day where I didn't have to be anywhere. I could have a to-do list -- no problem.

I just needed an entire 24-hour period full of white space to carve up as I saw fit.

While diagnosing my problem was a relief, looking at my calendar curtailed that excitement pretty quickly. I'm optimistic that I can stitch together a patchwork of white space in the week ahead, but my meadow is still a ways off.

Still, knowing what the problem is, now I can tackle it. The first step is to find the first white space day on my calendar and plant my flag. My day. My time. Nothing scheduled here. A big old X on the calendar, and that step is done. Yes, people can ask me to do things, and I'll be happy to add them to my list, and maybe even comply. As long as I don't have to be anywhere else to do it.

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The next step is to take a look at the things that are eating up my white space and decide if they've earned the right to gobble it up. Which commitments truly enrich me and which are simply white-space eating habits? That step is a lot more challenging, but it's the one that's likely to lead to a long-term solution.

Finally, I need to get from here to the X on my calendar. Knowing what's going on is a big relief -- a half-inflated life preserver, if you will -- and knowing my white space is there, waiting for me, helps, too. Until then, I have to protect my patchwork, and, barring emergencies, I think I can do that.

And finally finally, I need to accept that this is something that I need. That it's not selfish or childish or ridiculous. Yes, a full schedule with responsibilities is part of being an adult. But my goal is to be a happy adult, and that means that an honest assessment of what I can and cannot do is in order. And what I cannot do is operate indefinitely without white space.

How about you? How do you capture and preserve your white space?