I knew a guy who smoked a pipe in the breakroom at work when we were at the travel agency. It was a total affectation, but I kind of admired him for it. It was his way of saying “look, I’m an intellectual in a sea of normalcy.” And also “don’t sit with me and talk when I’m trying to read.”
I decided to do National Novel Writing Month–also known as NaNoWriMo–this year in spite of washing out at my last attempt two years ago.
And so far it’s going so well that I wanna go out and get me a whole set of Writerly Props just like Brian’s pipe. Because, gosh darn it, I feel more like a writer than I ever have in my life.
This book I’m writing is really more like I’m pre-reading it. I can’t fully describe the feeling (so much for being a writer) that comes from having it just flow out of me like I’m reading it into existence.
I made myself two promises this year. I would finish the book no matter what and I would just write. No research, no procrastinating for an hour while I set up just the perfect playlist in iTunes to feed my creativity. Just me getting out of bed every day and sitting at the keyboard and telling myself a story.
And it is wonderously freeing. Instead of stopping every few minutes to double-check the geography of Lancaster County or to look for a photo of a woman who looks similar to my character I am just telling the story as it comes to me. No checking back at an outline.
In short, less like the work I used to do as a secretary, minding the orders and details and managing everyone into the proper place. And while it’s somewhat scary to fly unguarded like this it’s also like I’ve given myself enough freedom to dance.
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I love you, my sistah-friend! Thank you for writing this!!
That quintessential writer-teacher-dude is one I’ve envisioned marrying — and I met a couple of them once in college. And then I saw that type of dude on the big screen in My Big Fat Greek Wedding. ~sigh~ Have yet to find another one… esp. one who loves Jesus. ~double sigh~
OK, back to your post…
I have the same feelings sometimes about being a writer — I love even the props: beat-up leather messenger bag (I have yet to find one of those that could be slightly girly; one writerly dude* from college had the best one I’ve ever seen), feather pen and ink to dip, a pot of tea and wee little teacup and saucer, candlelight.
However, I am not getting that flow thing you’ve described. But WAHOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! that you are. *office chair boogie dance*
So… how does one get to that place?
I feel as if I have this story I want to tell, that I’ve always wanted to tell, but it’s locked in a mental drawer somewhere… in a room that no one visits except at night… in their dreams. (And OK, that sounds like a great plot device… but then I’d be stealing from Robert Jordan. Argh.)
* What is it about writerly dudes that they wear those fabulously warm, scratchy big sweaters; corduroy pants; and clod-hopper shoes and carry beat-up leather messenger bags? And sometimes the smart-hip-cool-person glasses. (This is before the get to the older writerly dude stage of wearing black turtlenecks and the tweed jackets w/ elbow patches.) Whatever the reason, I <3 them! =D