When I set out to learn about my mother's bridge club, the Jewish octogenarians behind the matching outfits and accessories, I never expected to fall in love with them. This is the story of the ladies, their game, their gen, and the ragged path that led me back to my mother.DAY #4 Who’s still with me? I spent my thirty minutes going over earlier pages. I think the goal, ideally, is to write new material. And I meant to but I also needed to touch base with earlier pages. Were there redundancies? Discrepancies? What could I do better? Sometimes you just need to start at the beginning of the diving board. Tomorrow, I’m going to push myself forward. But the bigger victory was simply that I did my thirty minutes before doing any other publishing work. In other words: bite me.
What in your life competes for your writing time?
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Betsy Lerner 
I am so with you.
I ended a chapter and had to begin another, so I’d usually either quit for the day or muck around for awhile until I figured it out. But with those 30 minutes ticking by, I just dove in.
Fear is what I compete with in my writing time. FEAR.
I get up early and write for two hours before 8. Then it’s done. (I need a similar exercise plan.) If I have more time I keep going. I am extremely distractible and addicted to Insta so I use a Pomodoro timer and put my phone in a food safe and it helps.
What competes? At this point not much. I press on and when life gets in the way I write around the edges.
“What in your life competes for your writing time?”
Specifically, nothing. Generally, exhaustion.
Life. People. Had a mild lapse yesterday but am back today gung-ho.
Twelve hour workdays and social exhaustion.
I am with you. I do what you did every time I open the doc. Review what I wrote the day before, tweaked and moved ahead, made the goal.
Up until about three months ago, what most often interrupted me was my “little guy.” My Yorkie, Mister. I took him to get his teeth cleaned and he did not come home. To say I was devastated does not begin to touch how I felt, and still feel over it. So. My little interrupter, the one who would hop out of his crate and stand looking at me when he wanted something – which was about every couple of hours, is gone.
Just a couple days ago I told my husband that by my calculations, I have an extra 3-4 hours a day without little man. Hours gained, a special presence lost. I would reverse it if I could. 😭
Oh, Donna, I’m sorry. That’s so hard. Poor little pupper.
Thank you, Averil – I can’t hardly stand the replay that wants to loop in my head about that day. Harrowing.
Your muse (and much more, I know). How hard … my condolences.
Thank you – so true.
When they go it leaves such a huge emptiness behind. Amazing how little they are yet how much of our lives they take up. Thinkin’ ‘bout ya.
This reply was for Donna
It is . . . enormous, really. I knew it was going to be really hard with him, it’s the unexpectedness that made it much more so.
Sorry for your loss, Donna. Peace.
Thank you, Mike.
Paying work, self-doubt, and the woods
Still with you.
Hanging in there — I was up until midnight last night. That’s real late for me, even on a Saturday night.
I’m working too much these days — the postal service is falling apart and I guess I’m going down with the ship, going from one office to another 5 days out of six. The days are long, the daylight short.
My daughter is 15, we live in the sticks and there’s a lot happening these days for her in town (20 minutes away). This is a good distraction, in my estimation — sometimes she’s quiet on the ride and sometimes she talks about what’s going on in her teenage world.
Lately I’ve been writing about my life at around her age, a time of running and the Marx Brothers, There was also insecurity and isolation,some good friends and a glimpse that there was more to the world than I ever knew. It was a different time back then, but my daughter reminds me some things remain sorta the same.
This is somehow very warm and lovely Mike. You could publish it as a story, and in some way that really does matter, it wouldn’t be missing a word. Thanks for sharing this healing, beautiful thing. It makes me weep, remember, find inspiration and strength. It’s really something.
I start my 30 minutes reading previous words but no editing . I just write. I only edit after I decide to keep
a piece. What gets in the way of my writing? Living in a big house with so many chores screaming “pay attention to me, dammit!” And if I can write 30 minutes a day, I can certainly walk that same amount of time. Loving this, Betsy!!
Not anonymous!!! Oops…
The ADHD-addled idiot who lives in my head. He thinks the internet is real, and something to do with my life.
Simple stuff… shop for food, cook the food, wash the clothes, buy Christmas presents, get the mail (snail, email, and video), pay the bills, buy candy for Halloween, pass out the candy… I could use a wife.
Oh, I forgot, I have one.
My husband is somewhat disabled and he often needs my help, we need to spend time with our grandchildren, I need to finish painting the house, the fence line needs weeding, and supper won’t cook itself!
And P.S. my sister is visiting from Memphis and asked me to bake her a pumpkin pie! Of course, I said yes!
A lot less than it used to since I just retired as a college writing professor in May! Now I have the time to schedule writing and let words pull me to the page or computer as they like. No more excuses!