A journey, not a race

By Jenna Byrnes

The reams of stories written on wide lined notebook paper, bound with orange yarn, don't count. Those started in fourth grade. My first heroine had twenty-some babies and just as many husky sled dogs-- for two reasons. One, like many ten year old girls I swore I'd grow up to be a veterinarian because I loved dogs, and if I couldn't have a dozen of them, my characters could. And two, I loved choosing names, and never stopped to think that I didn't have to use all my favorite names in the first book I wrote. But, I digress. I said those stories don't count. Back then, I could while away hours lying on my bed writing in a notebook. Man, what I'd give for some of that free time now.

When I picked up writing again as an adult, my children were little and it was a pastime for the evening hours when my husband watched whatever sport was on TV at the moment. Back then I had a used word processor (which at least allowed me to get rid of the liquid paper) and an old fashioned printer with paper that had tear-off strips on either side. I wrote my first novel on that thing, a 120,000 word tome that eventually got published as a nice, tight, 30,000 word novella.

I put writing aside during the child-raising years. In the span of nine years, besides working full time and raising my children, I was a cub scout leader, a boy scout troop treasurer and committee chairman, a religious education teacher (that one for the whole nine years, yes, I said- NINE years!), president of my church's council of Catholic women, Eucharistic Minister, church neighborhood group leader, on the committee for church activities planning, and tired....very tired. Once my boys hit those milestones- Eagle Scout, driver's licenses, Sacrament of Confirmation in 9th grade, I dropped out of my active life and let them fly solo for awhile. I was very glad to have done all those things, thrilled to have watched my kids achieve all they had, but I was ready to take some time back for me. I started writing again.


At first it was late night scribblings. I had an honest to goodness computer, though it would be considered a dinosaur now. I remember staying up late, usually on Saturday nights, and writing like crazy while the rest of the house was asleep. Those were interesting times, but not a schedule I could live with for long.

Once I began to figure out the write/submit/sign contract/edit/publish/promote cycle, I knew I needed more regular writing and promoting time. I've slowly settled into a schedule that works for me, even though it means getting up earlier than normal and missing a few lunches here and there (which nobody can tell, I'm sure.) Somehow I manage to handle the day job, squeeze in some writing each day on my own time, get my housework managed and end up with some family time as well. Okay, some days that means falling asleep in front of the TV which we've all gathered round to watch. (Someone will nudge me.)

The system isn't perfect--with such strict allowances for writing time, when I sit down to do it, if the words don't flow, I get frustrated and feel like a slacker. Then Jude kicks me and reminds me it's okay to take some time off now and again. I write a lot. I know it's not a sin to take the occasional break (though the propensity to worry about sin is ingrained.)

There are so many stories in my head, they fight each other to get out. These days, I'm usually working on one solo project and rotating between my publishers so I send each of them something fairly regularly, and I'm also working on a project with Jude. When she has the manuscript, I work on my stuff, and vice versa. So, like Lisabet, beginning each writing session by reading the last bit I wrote is especially important to me. Wouldn't want to stick the wrong character in the wrong book, LOL. (Actually, I've never done that but it sounds funny and I might try it to see if Jude notices.)

Writing is a habit, and sometimes when I don't do it, it's hard to get back into the routine. I write six days a week when possible, and save that last day for blog posts and catching up on stuff. I usually write about a 1,000 to 1,500 words a day. I've done up to 3,500 words in one day, and wish I could be that prolific all the time. But then I'm afraid I'd be back in that crazy active lifestyle mode, when I was tired all the time. (Even more tired than I am now, which I can't fathom.) So I try to remember that writing, like life, is a journey, not a race. Half the fun is in the trip.