2011 June » Deborah Kalin

why, hello again, 5:55am.

Jun 202011

At last, I've bowed to the inevitable and taken up writing in the mornings again.

I've always written best(ish) in the mornings — by which I mean I like that I start the day knowing I have words on the manuscript, and I like that the manuscript gets first dibs on my attention. At that time of day it's more sleep-deprived than fresh, but at least it isn't drained by attending to the day's myriad needs into the bargain, which is generally my evening state of mind.

It's fair to say, though, I don't like getting up early. The bed is waaaaaaaaaarm. My eyeballs take twenty minutes to work up any moisture and come to something approximating a working agreement with my contact lenses, so I'm not exaggerating when I say the first hundred or so words are written literally blind. (Lucky I can touch-type.) Writing to a clock, because I have to stop in time to get to the dayjob, means I'm constantly interrupting myself to check the time. (I've set an alarm to keep track of the time for me, but it's a nervous tic. I'm hoping practice will help me relax and trust the alarm sooner or later.)

What I love, nay absolutely ADORE, about writing in the mornings is that I am the only person in the world. Sitting tucked up in the dark, with only myself and my laptop and my imagination, knowing the rest of the world is sleeping and no one, but no one, will disturb me … it's divine beyond words. Of course, I'd prefer that snug dark lonesomeness to be post-midnight, but that doesn't work so well with a dayjob. Pre-dawn is the next best thing.

Despite knowing from experience this was my best option, I fought it. Because it's cold in the mornings: I don't need more chillblains, and that kind of cold only exacerbates the aches in my back, neck, shoulders and wrists. Because it seemed like it would create more problems in my daily routine than it would solve, such as waking the pterosaur¹ or making it impossible for me to get enough sleep. Because I wanted to try being more flexible and less routine-driven, like normal people.

But I tried flexible and less routine-driven, and all it gave me was less time than before, and a never-ending slew of last-minute errands which regularly swallowed any chance of writing that day. And I underestimated the pterosaur, who is simultaneously supportive and utterly unrousable in that he manages to lift the doona and help push me upright without actually waking himself. And as for the cold … I have a heater now!

Sometimes, taking time for your writing means admitting you need those routines that you think make you boring. And taking that time, and enforcing that routine, even though you risk some people thinking you're boring. Because the people that count will understand. (Although they will probably still think you're a little bit crazy. But everyone knew that bit already anyway.)

I haven't mentioned the pterosaur overmuch on the blog, out of respect for his privacy, but suffice to say he's named for the noise he makes when he hiccoughs. It's totally the noise a flying dino would make if it had just spotted delicious (utterly deaf) prey. Startling stuff. [↩]

the face of an introvert

journal 8 Responses »

Jun 162011

Apparently my blog comes up in the top rankings for Google queries about introversion being a disease.

This is, of course, care of my rant introversion is not a disease.

People are often surprised to hear me claim I'm introverted. I imagine I'm not alone among introverts in this, because introverts and introversion are not well-understood in general.

I've been drafting a post on this, on and off, for the last week, ever since a friend rationalised her surprise at my being introverted with the comment, "But I guess it's because you look confident in your field. Introverts are mostly really uncomfortable, even in their own field."

It was the first conscious inkling I had that there's a real misunderstanding out there about what introversion is, and what it looks like.

And today, via my tweet stream, the internet delivered ten myths about introverts:

Myth #1 – Introverts don’t like to talk.
This is not true. Introverts just don’t talk unless they have something to say. They hate small talk. Get an introvert talking about something they are interested in, and they won’t shut up for days.

Myth #2 – Introverts are shy.
Shyness has nothing to do with being an Introvert. Introverts are not necessarily afraid of people. What they need is a reason to interact. They don’t interact for the sake of interacting. If you want to talk to an Introvert, just start talking. Don’t worry about being polite.

This list is so perfect, and so entirely encapsulates what I wanted to say (or at least begin with) ever since I first started drafting this post, that even though I already re-tweeted it, I thought it bore repeating here.

If only because I've already had one friend discover, on reading the list, that he was, to his own surprise, an introvert. To which I say: welcome to the (quiet-like) club!

oh, the glamour

away come away, journal 2 Responses »

Jun 132011

It's a long weekend in my part of the world, which means I'm tucked up at home eyeballing the novel. My plan is, if I can lull it into a false sense of security by doing inconsequential errands around it, it won't notice when I start working on it, ever so gently, ever so slowly. And I'll be able to pin another few hundred words onto its bedraggled ends before it figures out a way to protest. Writing, guerilla-Frankenstein style.

It's not the cleverest method of writing, in that it tends to lead to a lot of half-completed errands. For example my breakfast this morning was a soft-boiled egg. It was not meant to be soft-boiled: I was actually aiming for hard-boiled. But I got distracted by writing thoughts, and then I couldn't remember how long the dang thing had been sitting there whistling, and anyway I was hungry, so I just fished it out and started peeling it. And then when it started running everywhere, and I had no bread to sop it up and make it delicious, I admit it: I just drank the damn thing.

It was … kinda not awesome.

This is a large part of the reason I do not trust myself to provide food to other, more normal, people.

like the pensive penguin

away come away, journal 4 Responses »

Jun 032011

Complain that you hate your novel, and the internet gives you possible explanations.

First it was a post by Clarissa Draper on writer's ~~block~~ boredom, and coping therewith¹ which made me realise I was bored. Oh, of COURSE. To be fair, I've never written to an outline before, precisely because every time I try I end up being bored, and I thought my current level of boredom was "just" because of the outline, not due to the trudgery, gotta-get-through-this-detail bit of the narrative.

To counter my boredom, I have decided to kill off a (very nice) priest, which is helping to liven things up a little.

After that, it was Rowena's post on narrative structure, linking to a discussion of linear and patterned structure by Jennifer Crusie, and that got me to wondering whether the faerie novel was supposed to be patterned rather than linear… (For the record, I don't think it is. At all, in fact. But at least it got me thinking, and I'm sure an awareness of the pattern and shape hanging above all this detail I'm currently trudging through can't hurt. And I have a feeling that, while I'm writing the bits I know linearly, I'm still going to be mulling over the larger structure for a while to come.) Like the pensive penguin I am.

Then I spent Saturday, in a random and unexpected turn of events, totally and utterly ~~neglecting~~ ~~ignoring~~ resting from my writing, including attending a party where all and sundry fondly chastised me for never taking weekends off and made me promise to schedule some downtime into my routine. I interpreted this as permission to spend Sunday totally and utterly resting from my writing. And it was glorious. And included chocolate-covered peanuts.

So. The internet/universe, it turns out, is listening. Even if it doesn't always look that way. Because the internet/universe is a bit creepy that way.

(Dear internet/universe, I would really appreciate it if my neck and shoulder muscles did not ache all. the. time. (And no fair just shifting the ache somewhere else.) Just putting that out there.)

(Also, while you're at it, I want a pterosaur of my very own. No particular rush.)

I really have spent too long in the dayjob. The lawyers always put there before every preposition, whether it belongs or not, and I've fallen into the same habit because I have to argue back using their own language. Therewith. Thereto. Therein. Thereat. Therebetween. That last one doesn't even exist! Lawyers, do you SEE the perversions you make me practice upon the English language? I will never forgive you. [↩]