Here I sit at my modest work station in preparation to work. Work is a curious word for what I’m about to do. I’m about to write.
For the daughter of an office manager and a handy man who was raised with little more than was necessary to get by; the idea that writing is work is a rather new thought in this house. For some family members, it’s still a bit of a myth.
They see me at the computer—whether there be a smile on my face or a frown—and they assume that I’m playing around. And truthfully, there’s a good chance I am. But what the family doesn’t seem to understand about the work of writing is that it is more than simply typing as many words into a document as possible.
So, anyhow—like I said—I’m sitting here preparing to write and I fall victim to the stupid television. But you should give me a break because 300 is on and I mean, come on, Gerard Butler + loin cloth + never-ending abs? Yes, I’m a serious writer. No, I’m not a monk. Are there even lady monks?
…
Moving on.
This is what my evenings consist of—a delicate dance where I flip from typing at hyper speed and hoping that when I look at what I’ve written a week later that it won’t suck the big one; and then television. Or Google searching mermaid reproduction because it’s a matter of extreme importance. You see? I have serious work to do.
And even though I’m not writing about mermaids, that search was valuable. As a writer, every search, every book, every TV show has the potential to teach me something. Or sometimes, for some strange reason, inspiration can strike. Whether it be an example of something that worked in a show or something that didn’t in a book; I’m always learning.
There are times where sitting on the sofa, remote in hand, really is just a waste of time. And certainly not every fishing expedition on the reproductive aspects of the Merworld is helpful. Sometimes, I really am just looking up random crap. But then there are the times that I happen upon something that strikes a bit of genius in my heart and mind; and my stories are forever the better for it.
I’m not sure how it’s happened that I can consider watching a film about a rogue Spartan King that looks like a comic book come to life work, but I have. And isn’t that what being a writer is—a curious amalgamation which somehow turns everyday tasks into inspiration which however unfathomably turns into words on a page which eventually become your book.
Never have I set out on a stranger or more rewarding experience as I have in attempting to write a book or to call myself a writer. And hopefully one day, the family will get it. And maybe not.
See ya later,
J.C.
