We’ve all seen the movies and TV shows. Writers are often depicted in secluded, dark libraries, leaning over desktop computers at huge wooden desks. Their swivel chairs are made of expensive brown leather that conforms to their bodies. The room is theirs alone; no family members enter . . . vague and austere respect hovers at the threshold. There is sacred work being done in that chamber. Oh, and there’s usually a bottle of whiskey within reach to help nudge those creative juices along.
Ha! So, that’s NOT my experience at all. Okay, once in a while, if I’m writing at night, there may be a gin and tonic or a glass of red wine by my side. But more often than not, I write in the mornings, so coffee is likely my liquid companion.
I don’t have a library and only a faux leather chair, but that’s okay, because I’m always writing on my laptop computer which is beautifully portable. I settle down to write at my dining room table, on my couch, at coffee shops, and even in waiting rooms. I keep a notebook by the side of my bed—and one of those fancy pens with a small light on it—for when inspiration strikes in the middle of the night. (Or I jot notes in my phone.) The bottom line for me is: writing is fluid. Descriptive phrases, dialog, or plot ideas come whenever they want to, so I need to be ready any time.
One of the best things about working on my second book is that my husband Stephen is also writing. After being a sportswriter and journalism/English teacher for more than two decades, he is now tackling his first full-length novel. I love sitting across the dining table from him as we write. We pause and ask each other questions: “What’s another way to say _____?” or “If my main character says this, does it convey that?” It’s wonderful to have someone to bounce ideas off, and we encourage each other to stick to our goals.
And where does one find the time to write a novel? So glad you asked. Honestly, I have no idea how people write novels when they’re still working outside the house full time. I couldn’t do it. Heck, I didn’t do it. But I will share that I’m very fortunate, and grateful for that good fortune. Since retirement is just too busy (HA!), Stephen and I went to Italy for a self-made writing retreat this past fall (2023). “Real life”—even without paid employment—has many distractions, so being away was helpful. We were able to set a routine of writing for several hours each morning, then head out into whatever amazing city we were staying in (Florence, Siena, and Orvieto) to take in the sights and eat pasta or pizza. Yes, every day. And yes, we each gained some weight. (!!) My advice? If you’re ever looking to create a writing retreat, go someplace where the food is BAD! Just kidding. EAT! ENJOY! – and deal with the extra pounds later. Otherwise, the good news is that creating a daily writing habit is much more important than whatever room you’re sitting in. No leather chair needed.
Made with love by structure & heart studios
"Forks & Knives" was born as part of a long journal entry, a cathartic release. In 2003, despite being happily married to my second husband, insomnia visited me regularly. My brain pushed and pulled, working through hurtful and confusing memories that defined the rocky journey of my first marriage and its ultimate demise. The finished document sat inside my computer, unread, for seventeen years.
When I retired in 2021, I revisited the document, hesitantly. “Is this worth reworking into a novel? Would anyone care about this?” I asked my best friend, my husband Stephen, to read it. Bonus for me: He taught American literature for more than twenty-five years (!), so I knew I could trust his opinion. Happily, he confirmed, “Yes, it’s good. You should work on it.” Then he introduced me to Brian Kaufman (www.authorbriankaufman.com) and Penpointers, the Northern Colorado writer’s group that Stephen had belonged to years before I met him. Over the next year and a half, my self-focused monologue transformed into a work of fiction that would appeal to people outside my immediate circle of friends and family. At least that’s my hope.
Whenever I mention what this book is about, I'm invariably met with, "Yeah, my mom was a drinker," or "My son was sober for a while, but . . ." There are millions of stories like mine out there -- people who have loved/lived with alcoholics/addicts and struggled to hold on through the pain. But there are ways we can help and support those we love without losing ourselves. This novel alone can't help those still working through those dark days, but maybe some of the resources here can play a role.
