A hundred trillion years ago, when I was an impressionable young man, someone older and wiser told me that if I didn’t have a regular quiet time every morning, I might as well invite Satan over for breakfast. Since I was Someone Who Always Wanted to Do the Right Thing, I decided I had no choice but to comply (besides, everyone knows Satan eats all the crispy bacon and only leaves you the floppy pieces).
Here’s what my journal would have looked like if I’d kept one in the days that followed:
Day 1: During my quiet time, I prayed. Mostly that I would have a good quiet time. Then I had breakfast.
Day 2: Quiet time cut short by smell of bacon. Thankfully, Satan was busy elsewhere. I got the good bacon.
Day 3: I know it’s late evening, but I was in the middle of a good dream this morning where the pretty girl smiled at me and not the handsome guy standing behind me and I’m pretty sure God would agree I need dreams like that to boost my self-esteem and because I woke up late I had to race to school and after I got home I had to fill the rest of the day with things that made me seem busy so I could put off homework until just before bed. But I’m here now and even though it’s time for my favorite TV show I have decided to…oh, wait…the power’s back on.
Day 4: Floppy bacon isn’t so bad.
Fast-forward a few years. More. Still more. Okay, you’re just about there…wait, back up one or two.
Close enough.
Now pretend this is a brilliant segue from the previous paragraphs (which, in case it isn’t clear, seem to hint that there is a difference between healthy spiritual discipline and Pharisaical, guilt-based behavior, though I didn’t develop the point very much because I mostly just wanted to say stuff about bacon) and the next paragraphs (which will be all about writing, so you can relax now if you were concerned I was going to turn this into a sermon).
Someone younger and maybe nearly as wise told me that if I didn’t write every day, I wasn’t a real writer. Someone else who might have been older and wiser or maybe just about the same age and possibly not so wise but it really doesn’t matter for the purpose of this blog post said “you absolutely have to write every day if you ever want to be a published writer.” And then someone else who I’m reasonably certain was clinically insane said, “I get up every morning at four and write for five hours…” after which his face froze in a creepy question-mark expression that asked “and what are your regular daily writing hours?” He probably would still be waiting for my answer if he didn’t have a 4 a.m. “time to write” wake-up call.
I don’t do any of those things. And I still have the audacity to call myself a writer.
Want to know my routine? Here it is:
Whenever. And wherever.
Sometimes I write for a couple hours sitting at my desk in my ergonomically-engineered office chair. Sometimes I stare into space and don’t write at all for days or weeks. Sometimes I write at midnight while practicing horrible posture in the living room recliner and listening to the cable TV Adult Alternative music station. Sometimes I plug in the earbuds and write as I disappear into movie scores while sitting (with horrible posture) in a chair at Starbucks. Sometimes in the middle of the night I write from my horizontal office (that would be my bed).
So, like I said, whenever. And wherever.
And I’m almost content with this non-routine routine. I say “almost” because I find I still wish I had a few more hours to write. (Don’t all writers wish they had more time?) I suppose I could schedule them at 4 in the morning. But I really love my sleeping dreams. Maybe I could chain myself to the ergonomically-engineered office chair for a few more hours a day, but sitting for too long with perfect posture just makes me grumpy. So instead, I guess I’ll just always wish for more time.
Don’t misconstrue what I’m saying here. I believe a regular routine can be a very good thing. For some people, a disciplined schedule may be the best (or only) way to keep writing. If you’re one of these people, I salute you (from my horizontal office).
But if you’re not? Don’t beat yourself up about it. (Unless guilt is the only thing that gets you writing. Then self-flagellate all you want.) There will be times when you have to force yourself into patterns that might not be a natural fit (deadlines will do that to you), but otherwise? Just write the way you write. If you write best in your PJs, then slide into your bunny slippers and write away. If you write best at Starbucks, caffeinate your way to the bestseller list. (Just don’t steal my table.)
The point is this: there is no one “right way” to write. There is only your way.
So write.
Or not.
Do you smell bacon?
Comments
24 responses to “There Is Only One Right Way to Write (This Title Is Intentionally Misleading)”
Very entertaining. Slap a gold star and 50 points on your forehead.
I think I knew all the same older, wiser, same age, maybe not so wise people you did. The biggest difference for me was that the scenario didn’t involve bacon.
I do believe in leading a disciplined life, but it really bothers me when people assume their way is the only way to manage a quiet time/household/rugby team/bacon factory/writing career. I like what Oswald Chambers says about folks who are rigidly married to their routine. “You’re not spending time with the Lord, you’re spending time with your habit.”
Sometimes a little staring into space is the wisest thing a real writer can do. (I’m older and probably not clinically insane, so feel free to quote me.)
Think I’ll go write now.
Or not.
Sweet dreams.
I’ve slapped the gold star and 50 points on my forehead, but now everyone is looking at me funny. At first I thought they were jealous, but now I think it has something to do with a communal concern about my mental state. After all, I’ve been staring into space for the past hour.
Well, if that security guard who’s walking toward me and lovingly caressing his nightstick [not a euphemism for something else, that would just be rude] asks what I’m doing, I’ll answer with the truth…
“I’m writing.”
(Great quote from Chambers, btw.)
Sometimes a nightstick is just a nightstick. Same thing with a carrot. Which, you may or may not recall, figures into a scene in A Girl With Wings–a scene which, as you may or may not know because I may or may not have told you, is based on a real conversation I had with my mom when I was thirteen.
Hmmm. I may or may not have used the phrase “may or may not” too many times in this comment.
So, how did it turn out with the policeman?
I may or may not have made up that bit about the security guard and his nightstick. But let’s say I didn’t make it up. In that case, I escaped unharmed.
I do recall that scene. I don’t recall that I knew it was an actual conversation. I may or may not remember this comment later today.
Now you got me humming on that Shakira song… and craving bacon.
I wrote a bunch of other things too but my self-editor says it’s too personal to put in a blog comment. The bottom line was basically: Been there, done that, thanks for sharing. =D
“Craving Bacon” sounds like the perfect name for a band. I’m not sure they’d tour with Shakira, though. My guess is they’d be a Pink Floyd cover band.
I’m impressed that you listened to your self-editor. I only listen to mine when it’s not to my benefit. Like when I’m trying to actually finish that novel of mine. I pretty much ignore him when writing blog posts. And comments. Especially comments.
I don’t smell bacon, because it’s saran wrapped in my fridge.
“Sometimes I write at midnight while practicing horrible posture in the living room recliner and listening to the cable TV Adult Alternative music station..”
Oh, good. I’m not the only one in pain here past midnight, except I’m sitting on a wobbly bar stool, typing with my elbows up towards my ears, because I’m five feet petite and Asian, listening to my 10 year old fridge purring like a broken microwave.
(exhale) Thanks, Stephan. I needed that.
Now, it’s time for me to write horizontally. Thank you. Good night.
You have a fridge that purrs? I expect that’s because the fridge is content to know it holds great promise in its belly (that Saran-wrapped bacon).
Or it’s quite possible you have an infestation of cats. I’d check behind the fridge first. Look for a gaping hole in the drywall that hides a lair filled with tin foil balls and bits of string and maybe a pilfered library copy of “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie” stained with cat drool.
Found you via @katdish on Twitter.
Great post!
Thanks for the permission to be me – I like the “whenever, wherever” style and the “write every day or you’re not a writer” advice is depressing for me.
Free to be me ….
Janet
Janet, here’s the cool thing about writing – you always have permission to be you. Now, if you want to be someone else for a time, it’s customary to ask the person first. And don’t forget: There’s a fine line between the flattery of imitation and identity theft.
This is awesome! I love it! I just posted something kinda similar yesterday on my blogspot blog. For some strange reason, we writers seem to think that we’re not real writers unless we’re…writing.
That is sooooooo not the case. There are so, SO many other things that we need to do that doesn’t involve writing at all. I think I write about, oh, two-three months out of the year. That’s not a lot, like, at ALL, but I’m still a writer!
Great post!
Frankie
Frankie, thanks for awesomizing this post. (It’s a word. I just looked it up. Okay, i didn’t. But unlike some editors, I’m perfectly comfortable with verbing non-verbs.)
And you’re right, there are lots of things we need to do that don’t involve writing. However, this comment is not one of them. After I submit the comment, though, I’ll be sipping tea. This is an act that doesn’t involve writing. However…sipping tea does inspire me to think about other times I’ve sipped tea. And some of those are worth writing about. But not this one. This one is going to be really boring. Just sip-pause-sip-pause-sip and that’s it.
As you can see, I’m stalling.
The tea is really hot.
I think we’re related. 🙂 I could have totally written this post! Kinda made me want to do a fist pump at the end and yell, “AMEN brother! That’s right!”
Hmm…every time I asked my parents if I was adopted, they laughed all too quickly. Like they’d practiced before, you know?
Is your handwriting completely unreadable? Because if it is, then we won’t even need the DNA test.
Hey, sis! So, how old am I really? Surely at least ten years younger than my parents claim.
Any chance our folks have a beautiful, empty villa in Tuscany just crying out for a visit from a long-lost relative? Because I’ve always wanted to go. You know, to get back to my roots.
Wait…what ethnicity are we?
[Stephen, this is your self-editor. Stop it. You’re scaring the nice people.]
Mmmm…..bacon.
Yeah, that’s one of my favorite Hanson songs, too. Really catchy. I just wish they would enunciate better when singing it. They could learn a lot from the master of elocution himself, Homer Simpson.
I’m just sayin’.
That’s one of the deepest, funniest blog posts I’ve read in the last five minutes….
Now I need some bacon!
This blog post has been brought to you by the National Bacon Council. “Bacon – technically speaking, a subset of ‘The Other White Meat,’ but oh so much tastier than those dry, overcooked roasts your grandmother keeps making for Easter dinner.”
[Their slogan needs a little work.]
Great post, once again.
Aside from all the writerly wisdom, I love the way your parenthetical voice flows with your narrative. My parenthetical voice is actually a separate personality entirely, and she always tries to take over.
I agree. Write whenever, however, wherever. But write. (And my other personality, my secret identity, is wondering when that novel’s gonna be done?)
I’ve begun to wonder if my parenthetical voice is just biding its time, blending in with my non-parenthetical voice until such time as it can push me in front of a speeding bus and take over all of my writing. (I’m just kidding of course. I can’t imagine a reason for a parenthetical voice to do such a diabolical thing. Unless of course it’s tired of being considered “less important” than the non-parenthetical voice. Because, if you ask me, a parenthetical voice isn’t second best at all. Being “set apart” makes the parenthetical voice even More Important. That’s right, I just capitalized those two words. For emphasis. Because it’s true. Hey, is that a bus…?)
I suppose you’d think me evil since I really prefer the floppy bacon . . . since I rarely eat it if at all.
And call me “Stubborn” (with the capital S and all) because I quit listening to the writerly instructions from the wiser, dumber, published, wannabes, older, younger, in-betweeners, and crisp bacon-eaters (no offense to y’all) a long time ago. Queue (?) up the Frank Sinatra music: “I Gotta Be Me”. (Did he sing that?)
No, you’re not evil if you prefer the floppy bacon. Because you can oversleep and skip your morning quiet time and still enjoy breakfast.
Lucky.
(More likely stupid than lucky. And to reiterate Stubborn. ;( )
I haven’t written at all since our wonderful iMac got zapped by lightning about 2 months ago. I’m just too depressed about using this old laptop. (“crack gerbil” as my hubby calls it) It makes me feel better to think that I’m no less a writer just because I haven’t written in a while. When people I haven’t seen in a while ask me what I’ve been up to, I still tell them I’m writing a novel since that sounds a lot better than what I have been doing with my free time. Thanks for the encouragement and the laugh.