by Jude Mason
It's been a little while since I filled my spot here and I apologize to all of you who follow us here on the Grip. The flu has knocked me on my butt and even now I'm not back up to snuff but thought I'd give it a whirl this week.
When I met my husband, he knew I was a writer. If I'm not mistaken, when I first noticed him I was writing bad poetry instead of attending class. He can't say he didn't know. But, I can say he's been the most forgiving and thoughtful man I've ever known, even when he's an a$$.
I guess the question here would be more suited to him replying, but I'll do my best in his stead. When we dated, lust and angst and all those wonderful growing up things took a lot of time away from any serious writing, although I will admit, if I hadn't put pen to paper, I might have turned out a lot crazier than I am now. Hubby's willingness to share me with those characters in my head was a given. He either did, or I walked. He had his passions, so I've got to assume he understood, to some degree, what I meant.
We married, had our kids and raised them together. As a family, we did some great amazing things, but there was always a book somewhere that I scribbled notes into. The kids knew it, and it was just part of mom. My daughter writes, not as fanatically as I do, but it's in her blood too.
While the children were growing up, my writing took a backseat to a very large extent. I'm an insomniac, as it seems a great many authors are, and often I'd be wide awake for most of the night writing. It worked for me for years. When my kids were grown and pretty much gone, that's when I finally got the bug really bad.
When I write, I'm frantic. When I'm really into a story, I'm horrible if someone disturbs me. I've even growled at my family. They know not to bother me when I'm working. LOL. It's such a part of who I am, and they all know it, I've got to assume they don't mind. If they do, well, they keep it to themselves pretty well.
That's it. I'm a royal pain but my family loves me anyway. I'd love to hear from non-writers who live with us writerly types.
Showing posts with label living with a writer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label living with a writer. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Monday, November 9, 2009
The Black Hole
Ah, I'm following up very tough competition. Simone has the cute factor and isn't afraid to work it. I should have taken some pictures of my two girls peering over the top of the laptop, after all, that more than anything illustrates what living with this writer is like: three other people I share my life with trying to get Mama's attention away from "The Black Hole."
The Black Hole is my laptop, although strictly speaking it's not the laptop itself but the headspace I get into when a story is flowing that absorbs everything around me without any discrimination. My better half coined the phrase, and now even the 3 yr old uses the term interchangeably with 'puter. 'Puter or Black Hole, when Mama's on it, do not disturb.
I'm not a bad parent, truly. I gave them all my undivided attention up until last spring, when I hit 39 and was slowly consumed by the desire to do something for myself, which morphed quickly into the creative outlet of writing. At first, I "tried" it to see if I could. Then after I wrote the first novella, I quickly got an idea for another...and another...and, you get the point. 39 years of stifled creativity began to spew forth and I was lost.
Finally, my lifelong battle with insomnia became a plus. I would tuck my three into bed (yes, my husband too), and hit the screen until the wee hours of the morning. When school started, getting up to get the oldest to the bus on time wasn't a chore anymore, because it got me up and at 'em, with quiet time to work before the little one woke up.
I do try to limit my work time to non-kid time, but sometimes when the muse is whispering, I rely on my partner to take his turn with the kids and leave me to my keyboard. Practical cat that he is, this became much more palatable when the contracts began rolling in. The kids are still able to get my attention when they need it, and honestly, I have learned to try to put off any writing until after they are all in bed, using my daytime hours for the proofing and FLE I also do, as well as maintaining all my "Devon stuff." Creation happens between about 9pm and 2am every night (Pacific time).
I'm most emphatically NOT a desk person, spent way too many years as a desk jockey in the business world to associate it with creativity. So after much trial and error, I finally settled into the old chair and ottoman that came second-hand from a hotel chain I used to manage, tucked into the corner of the guest room/office upstairs (good feng shui). Some of my best spates of story-crafting have come here, and this is where you can picture me, spinning tales and writing blog posts. It fits me, and I have the option of legs up, computer on lap, or criss-cross-applesauce with the laptop on the ottoman.
Since I'm more panster than plotter (and that is way understated), I have to go with the flow when the story is coming to me. Regular hours are by necessity as a mom, but there have been times when I just need to remove myself for a day from family life and let it all out on screen. I give this a rating, and even when it's tempting during daylight, only when I hit def-con five, code red, blinking lights, do I actually pull myself away from the kids to write...at that point, I wouldn't be much use as mom anyway as my mind churns away, prompting repetitive, "What was that, sweetie?"
I'm still a complete newb as far as writing habits & pacing myself, and my family and I are learning as we go. One thing I do know is that this is something that I can honestly never see myself "retiring" from. And though the laptop is going to be replaced on 1/2/10, and I might have to bolster the sagging cushion under me, I can tell you with certainty that the big 4-0 in February is going to be only the first of many big 0's that I celebrate with a cozy cuddle in "my" chair, The Black Hole open in front of me, doing what I love. And fingers crossed that my family gives me a fond and indulgent look before letting Mom do her thing. Couldn't do it without them!
Sunday, November 8, 2009
La Vie Chez Lisabet
By Simone de Belle Chat
Bonjour, mes amis,
Allow me to introduce myself. I am Simone de Belle Chat, the dominant feline in the household of acclaimed erotica author Lisabet Sarai. Of course, I am using a nom de plume in order to protect my anonymity and Lisabet's. I do not want assorted furry riffraff mobbing my Facebook page and pleading to be my friends.
Lisabet asked me if I would be willing to offer my views on this week's blog topic, “Living with a Writer”. I was only too happy to oblige. It is fairly rare that I get the opportunity to expound on the pivotal role I play in Lisabet's writing. Only one of her books mentions me in the dedication, but she could not have reached her current pinnacle of success without my support and guidance.
To begin with, I assist her in maintaining the requisite level of organization on her desk. I insist that she reserve sufficient space, available at all times, for me to sit and supervise her efforts. When I decide that the pile of folders and notebooks on the corner of the desk has grown too tall, I take decisive action to encourage her to deal with the problem Papers scattered all over the floor simply cry out to be filed in the proper places. She pretends to be angry, but I know that, deep down, she appreciates my efforts.
I also insure that she keeps her screen and keyboard clean, by the simple expedient of scattering them with fur on a regular basis. In the old days, before she began using a laptop, she had to disassemble her keyboard every few months and vacuum out the interior to prevent the keys from sticking due to the tufts of cat hair blocking the switches. That has not been necessary thus far with the ThinkPad, but I know that she recalls the possibility every time I flick my tail across her fingers as she types.
One critical responsibility that I take very seriously is helping Lisabet to relax. When she is working against a deadline, she may sit and write for hours at a time, her shoulders hunched and her brow knitted in thought. I know that she will be sorry later if she does not get up and stretch. I keep a sharp eye on the clock, and when I decide that she needs a break, I will reach out a well-aimed paw and send her pen flying off into the middle of the room. My precision strike never fails to make her smile, and of course, she has to stand up in order to retrieve the pen. Then she will pet me for a while, exclaiming at the beauty of my velvety fur and my bright topaz eyes. When she returns to her computer, she is relaxed and rejuvenated, thus corroborating the abundant research that indicates cats reduce stress.
Do I influence the content of Lisabet's stories? Not as strongly as I would like. There is a cat in her upcoming release, Necessary Madness, a tuxedo tom who is a witch's familiar, but Lisabet has yet to create a story with a feline heroine. I do make allowances for the fact that most of her readers are human, but she could try her hand at a cat shape-shifter, couldn't she? In any case, it is not uncommon that she describes a character as having “feline grace”. In fact one might quibble that she uses that phrase too often, but it is, after all, supremely appropriate, n'est ce pas?
The eroticism in Lisabet's writing does not disturb me in the least. Even the most elegant and refined cat (such as I am) is randy enough to make human lust seem tame by comparison. It pleases me when she uses animal metaphors to describe humans in the throes of passion. I only wish that I could communicate to her the exquisite sensation of having a tom grip the ruff of your neck while battering your upraised haunches. One of the nice things about being feline that we are naturally polyamorous. Vive l'amour, I always say.
I have been focusing on the benefits that Lisabet derives from having me in her life. To be honest, I must admit that the situation is favorable from my perspective as well. Since she spends significant periods of time at home at her computer, I am rarely lonely. (When she is away, I do have Mr. Toes, the other cat in the family, for company, but he is far less articulate than Lisabet.) She always makes me feel welcome when I jump up onto her desk and curl up against her warm laptop. She personally feeds me and changes my litter, recognizing that a fastidious cat such as I requires the ultimate in hygiene. Once a year she brings me to the vet for my annual checkup and immunizations. Although I complain bitterly, I am grateful for her dedication to keeping me healthy.
Our apartment has a balcony and our potted plants attract quite an assortment of tasty looking birds. When I am weary of serving as Lisabet's muse, I can sit for hours watching the show.
All things considered, Lisabet and I have an excellent arrangement. If there are any cats out there in cyberspace who are considering entering into a relationship with a writer, I highly recommend it.
Avec les plus chaleureuses salutations,
Simone
Bonjour, mes amis,
Allow me to introduce myself. I am Simone de Belle Chat, the dominant feline in the household of acclaimed erotica author Lisabet Sarai. Of course, I am using a nom de plume in order to protect my anonymity and Lisabet's. I do not want assorted furry riffraff mobbing my Facebook page and pleading to be my friends.
Lisabet asked me if I would be willing to offer my views on this week's blog topic, “Living with a Writer”. I was only too happy to oblige. It is fairly rare that I get the opportunity to expound on the pivotal role I play in Lisabet's writing. Only one of her books mentions me in the dedication, but she could not have reached her current pinnacle of success without my support and guidance.
To begin with, I assist her in maintaining the requisite level of organization on her desk. I insist that she reserve sufficient space, available at all times, for me to sit and supervise her efforts. When I decide that the pile of folders and notebooks on the corner of the desk has grown too tall, I take decisive action to encourage her to deal with the problem Papers scattered all over the floor simply cry out to be filed in the proper places. She pretends to be angry, but I know that, deep down, she appreciates my efforts.
I also insure that she keeps her screen and keyboard clean, by the simple expedient of scattering them with fur on a regular basis. In the old days, before she began using a laptop, she had to disassemble her keyboard every few months and vacuum out the interior to prevent the keys from sticking due to the tufts of cat hair blocking the switches. That has not been necessary thus far with the ThinkPad, but I know that she recalls the possibility every time I flick my tail across her fingers as she types.
One critical responsibility that I take very seriously is helping Lisabet to relax. When she is working against a deadline, she may sit and write for hours at a time, her shoulders hunched and her brow knitted in thought. I know that she will be sorry later if she does not get up and stretch. I keep a sharp eye on the clock, and when I decide that she needs a break, I will reach out a well-aimed paw and send her pen flying off into the middle of the room. My precision strike never fails to make her smile, and of course, she has to stand up in order to retrieve the pen. Then she will pet me for a while, exclaiming at the beauty of my velvety fur and my bright topaz eyes. When she returns to her computer, she is relaxed and rejuvenated, thus corroborating the abundant research that indicates cats reduce stress.
Do I influence the content of Lisabet's stories? Not as strongly as I would like. There is a cat in her upcoming release, Necessary Madness, a tuxedo tom who is a witch's familiar, but Lisabet has yet to create a story with a feline heroine. I do make allowances for the fact that most of her readers are human, but she could try her hand at a cat shape-shifter, couldn't she? In any case, it is not uncommon that she describes a character as having “feline grace”. In fact one might quibble that she uses that phrase too often, but it is, after all, supremely appropriate, n'est ce pas?
The eroticism in Lisabet's writing does not disturb me in the least. Even the most elegant and refined cat (such as I am) is randy enough to make human lust seem tame by comparison. It pleases me when she uses animal metaphors to describe humans in the throes of passion. I only wish that I could communicate to her the exquisite sensation of having a tom grip the ruff of your neck while battering your upraised haunches. One of the nice things about being feline that we are naturally polyamorous. Vive l'amour, I always say.
I have been focusing on the benefits that Lisabet derives from having me in her life. To be honest, I must admit that the situation is favorable from my perspective as well. Since she spends significant periods of time at home at her computer, I am rarely lonely. (When she is away, I do have Mr. Toes, the other cat in the family, for company, but he is far less articulate than Lisabet.) She always makes me feel welcome when I jump up onto her desk and curl up against her warm laptop. She personally feeds me and changes my litter, recognizing that a fastidious cat such as I requires the ultimate in hygiene. Once a year she brings me to the vet for my annual checkup and immunizations. Although I complain bitterly, I am grateful for her dedication to keeping me healthy.
Our apartment has a balcony and our potted plants attract quite an assortment of tasty looking birds. When I am weary of serving as Lisabet's muse, I can sit for hours watching the show.
All things considered, Lisabet and I have an excellent arrangement. If there are any cats out there in cyberspace who are considering entering into a relationship with a writer, I highly recommend it.
Avec les plus chaleureuses salutations,
Simone
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