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.
Blogging is like dieting. Five days on, six days off. A trainer said, she loves intensity, but she worships consistency. I think I may have quoted her before, but it bears repeating. I truly, madly, deeply believe that to get anywhere with your writing you have to be consistent. You have to write every day or nearly every day. Especially the days when you don’t feel like it, when you’re lost, when you’re convinced that it’s all for naught. These are often the days when the writing gods shine on you and give you a transition, a simile to die for, a new characters, a killer first or last line. You have to show up, show up, show up.
What’s your writing routine?
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Betsy Lerner 
Note taped on my monitor: “Write the next sentence.”
I may have to steal that…
My routine used to be to get up a couple hours before my husband and use that time for writing, editing, whatever. I’d almost always get in a good hour a day (except for Sunday). Most days I’d be in my office for at least an hour (or three) after he went to bed. Once summer got here I planted a garden and started using my morning time to water and weed, paint, repair, build, whatever. Still working on my timeline for my current project (it’s extensive) but my writing has suffered. I’m starting on the fascia boards tomorrow (sand, prime, paint) but I’m promising myself to save an hour a day for writing. Consistency IS key! Thanks for the reminder! (Do we need another “Dirty Thirty” Challenge?)
Agree. Dailiness is everything and all we have.
“What’s your writing routine?”
I show up and I do it. Butt in chair, hands crafting words. Almost every day.
Did I mention? I know I did, somewhere, if not hereabouts, and I’m not going to go back and check, but last month, starting with the days I was in hospital and continuing through the first few days I was home, I composed an entire novel in my head. I liked it, too, though I don’t think it was publishable. And anyway, parts of it were a rehash of material I’ve already written and had published, so, as soon as I could get back to putting words in the processor, I wrote a short fiction piece, then returned to the long fiction I’ve been working on since just before the pandemic hit. Oh, and I rewrote a long piece, with skilled editing help, that was accepted for publishing in a book, acceptance coming mere days after my return home.
I am a fortunate man.
I have had the plague and am just now getting back to my morning coffee-shop routine. It does my heart to see you back here and with good news to boot, my friend. I’ll bet that unwritten novel was a cracker.
The unwritten novel was full of sex, seasoned with love, heartbreak, and youthful folly.
Now, you take it easy, and take care of yourself. Scribbler’s orders.
I write around the edges of my day: early, really late and if I am lucky I am able to carve a tasty slab in the middle. Have a nice day. Am looking for my butchers knife. See ya.
It’s every day with no real schedule, other than attending to emails first – if necessary. Next is social media. Once I’ve drained that, and can find nothing else interesting to stall/delay the inevitable, I open the damn thing up and look at it. And the pecking begins.
5:30-7:30 am on a good day. 6:30-7:30 on a bad day.