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.
How do you protect your time to write? How do you make boundaries? Does a long weekend mean more time to write, or more time to feel guilty, or more barbecues, family, scrolling? Are you the kind of writer who needs uninterrupted time? Or will you grab what you can get? Is your writing time sacrosanct? Precious? Elusive? Do you fritter your time away? Are you always reaching or burrowing in? Do you prioritize your work. Do you have a schedule? A niche?
What do you put before your writing?
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Betsy Lerner 
I write first thing, meaning after feeding cats, making the bed, email, NYT, Wordle, reading a page or two, writing to do list in bullet journal…try to start by 6 or 7 and go until depletion, checking email and insta about a thousand times.
Exactly – except replace feeding cats with feeding the birds.
Please allow me my fantasy of you as a modern day Edith Wharton. No electronics. Etc.
How do you protect your time to write? Repeat to everyone ad nauseum, “I’m writing, that’s why I didn’t answer the phone, answer the door . . .”
How do you make boundaries? See above.
Does a long weekend mean more time to write, or more time to feel guilty, or more barbecues, family, scrolling? Nothing changes, one way or the other I will find some time to write.
Are you the kind of writer who needs uninterrupted time? No. I can go back into it if interrupted.
Or will you grab what you can get? Only if I’ve had a day away from my desk. Then I will the need to open up my ms and at least LOOK at it.
Is your writing time sacrosanct? Yes. Precious? Yes. Elusive? No.
Do you fritter your time away? YESSSSSS. See below.
Are you always reaching or burrowing in? Both.
Do you prioritize your work. Yes.
Do you have a schedule? It’s all day, day in/out.
What do you put before your writing?
Not much, except . . . this problem occurred and I had to “handle” it.
I removed a game off of my phone yesterday – yes, it got that bad! I realized over the course of several months I’d become addicted. I’d play a bit while I waited for my computer to launch, get stuck in the ms = play, get up to do laundry, = play while I waited for the clothes to tumble dry, go get something to eat = play while I eat. It became a huge time suck.
I expect a lot more progress today – and I’m thinking about that stupid game.
When I tell people I’m writing, they just nod and keep talking. I can only assume they’ve read my work and are trying to prevent an oeuvre.
Ha!
Same here with the “keep talking.” Phone rings, it’s one of the kids, usually. To their question, “what are you doing?” I say, “I’m doing what I’m always doing.” And then, “I won’t keep you long.”
An hour later . . .
There’s a coffee shop near my house that opens early, so I go there every morning at 5:45 and write for an hour before work. On the weekends I sleep in and get there around 7:00. I give my writing no more conscious thought for the rest of the day, so the next morning it feels pretty fresh.
I tried to do this routine at home but it never worked for me. I need to physically get up and leave.
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“What do you put before your writing?”
I usually have my writing scheduled as one of the last things I do, after stuffing the pie hole, exercising to burn off the pie hole stuffing and to keep from seizing up entirely (I grow old, I grow old, I no longer smoke what’s rolled, etc.), doing laundry and housework, getting cleaned up, doing my paying job, attending to my email and to social media (except for here at Betsy’s place lately, due to a pesky computer problem, which Averil has helped me resolve (thank you, Averil, I send you hugs and kisses)), and attending to anything else that just can’t wait — then I reward myself with reading, writing, and working on my photography.
But sometimes the writing can’t wait. I’ve come to recognize the peculiar rustling, scratching sound it makes when it’s just outside the door, so I open up and let it in, or out, depending on what it wants.
Smooches, my friend. All is once again right with the world.