Writerly Things

I like to Google-Search stuff sometimes. Sometimes it’s writerly stuff that I need to know (for instance, when the screwdriver was first invented/mentioned) and sometimes it just weird stuff that occurs to me as I’m taking a break from writing (or procrastinating, as it’s otherwise known).

This afternoon I Google-Searched for images of writers. It came up with some interesting pictures. According to Google, writers are people who drink, smoke, love cats, tea and/or coffee, and live in cluttered, paper-strewn offices and studio apartments.

And my personal favourite?

Writer the last

<– This guy. He’s wondering what the heck he did to bring himself to this point in his life.

By and large, then, there seems to be a general idea of what a writer is/likes/does. Which is interesting, because it prompted me to think about the writers I know (other than myself, of course).

99% of the writers I know love and/or have cats. Myself, I feel about cats much the same way that I feel about spiders. Most of ’em are too big to squish without feeling sick and the ones that aren’t make you feel creepy-crawly up the back for ages after you do squish ’em. If you want to know more about my brief experiment with having a cat in my house, I refer you to The Saga Of Cat. TL;DR? It didn’t work out so well. I’m definitely a dog person.

Smoking and drinking? Don’t know many writers who smoke: we seem to (mostly) know better nowadays. Drinking appears to be more common, though from what I can tell it’s more of a celebratory/after work type thing. The days of artistically drunk writers who scrawl away under the influence seem to be largely gone. Though if you replace ‘whiskey’ with ‘bacon’, then I, too, frequently write while under the influence. Each to his own, eh?

Tea and coffee now, that’s where I become properly writerly. I love my cuppa tea. Several a day, in fact. Writers are divided between tea and coffee, but it’s always either one or the other. Can’t get through the day without at least one cup. Getting up when you’re stuck at a difficult part in the paragraph, savouring a moment of peace in the storm of words with your fingers wrapped around a warm cup and the scent of tea lingering in the steam. Pepping yourself up with the caffeine. We’ve all been there.

Now when it comes right down to littered houses, I’m slightly red-faced. My house isn’t in the best state at the moment. That, however, is not a constant state: if I have too much clutter around me, I can’t concentrate, and I can’t write. There are sometimes that I literally have to clean before I can settle to write. Procrastination? Writer’s Block? Maybe. But I prefer a clean house. The other writers I know waver between highs of spotlessly clean desk/house/nook/other, and troughs of the time in between, when everything slides slowly until it’s a huge mess again.

So what are your writerly things? What are some of the stereotypes you’ve seen? Are they some of the ones I’ve mentioned, or do you have your own weird writerly things that no one else seems to have?

Mistakes I’ve Made This Week

  • Calling a woman ‘sir’ at the dayjob. In my defense, she was wearing bloke’s jeans, huge sneakers, a bloke’s flanny, and had short back-and-sides. And I only saw her from behind, in my peripheral. Still . . .

  • Waiting so long to read Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell. I was gonna try and finish up the book I was reading before I began, but I’d heard such good things about it that in the end, I couldn’t help myself. Now I’m sorry I didn’t start on it first. It’s simply wonderful so far.

Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell. NOT my cover, unfortunately. It's lovely.

Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell. NOT my cover, unfortunately. It’s lovely.

  • Eating maybe just a teensy little bit too much chocolate. Okay, I overloaded on sugar. But it was in a good cause, because the hubby was forcing me to watch Vampire Diaries. Which brings me to . . .

  • Being inveigled into watching The Vampire Diaries. Aarrrgh! My eyes! The soap! Seriously, either Elena needs to stake both of the boys to stop having to INTERMINABLY CHOOSE BETWEEN THEMor the boys need to cut Elena in half so they can each have a piece. I mean, it’ll be bloody, but they’re vampires. They love blood. WIN/WIN.

  • Not drinking enough tea. I need to drink more. Tea is the great relaxer; comfort and contentment all in one lovely warm cup.

  • Messing about on the internet instead of writing. Oh boy, did I do this! Someone may need to stage an intervention.

Must  . . .

write . . .

must . . .

finish . . .

book!

  • Twisted my ankle while carrying the washing outside and down the stair. Yes. Stair, singular. Just one step. And I managed to twist my ankle on it. Huzzah! I’m half-way to Mary-Sue YA heroine status already!

How ’bout you guys?

Sound And Fury

I couldn’t really think of a blog post this week. Yanno: work, the dog, the hubby . . . a new tv show . . .

So you’re going to get 250-500 words of sound and fury, signifying nothing* about my week so far.

#1 on my list of nonsense is that my husband makes a great roast.**

#2 is that my dog stinks. I mean really honks. Can’t give her a bath because a.) no time and b.)when there is time it’s too late in the day for her to dry without leaving the whole house smelling of wet dog.***

#3 is kept for the smug, happy thought of the book I’m planning on reading next.****

#4’s job is to mention that I’m dying for a cuppa.

#5: Did I mention I really want a cuppa? A cup of tea is the best medicine. And I won’t say no to a couple of scotch fingers with that.

#6 would like to offer up the proud knowledge that I’ve figured out the kinks in a story I’ve been thinking about for years, making it properly writable at last *****

#7 is, happily for you, the end of this nonsense. Go do something productive with your day. I’ll be over here having a cuppa.

*Yup. You got it. I’m the idiot. You’re very clever.

**By this I mean that he cooked me a great roast, not that I cooked and ate him.

***Yes. Stinky dog smell is infinitely preferable to wet dog smell. Wet dog smell burrows into stuff.

****Re-reading Diana Wynne Jones’ Deep Secret, in case you wanted to know.

*****I have no time to write said book, of course. I have a schedule of four publications for next year, one of which I have yet to write, one of which is yet to be quite finished, and the third of which is on its last edits. The fourth is done, though. Go me!

Feeling Refreshed!

So I got a promotion at work.  It means more money, which means the house will get paid off in roughly five years (if I can stick to the plan); but it also means more work.  Lately, it also means going without my lunchbreak (which is usually my official hour of writing time) and getting home so flamin’ tired that I can’t concentrate on my dinner, let alone my WIP.  That, of course, has had a derogatory effect on my writing.

Oh, I’m still writing.  Sometimes I even write a whole paragraph.  (Yeah, impressive, right?)  But the sense of accomplishment and movement that comes from writing roughly a page a day, and the in-depth knowledge of the WIP that comes from writing it and living it every day, is no longer there.  Lately, I feel stale and old and slightly disconnected.  Discontented with the way my WIP is progressing and not as enthusiastic about it as I usually am.

This morning, however, I’m feeling re-energised.  Wanna know why?  Of course you do.  Over the weekend I read a wonderful book entitled ‘Brood of Bones’ by AE Marling.  Not only is it an amazing read in and of itself (fantastic plot, wonderful characters, and evocative prose) but it also has the distinction of being one of the few successfully written books having a female protagonist that is in fact written by a male.  Moreover, it gave me insights into how I want to write a certain book that is further down the chain in a sequence I’m currently working on.

There is nothing that energises me more than reading a well-written book with characters I love.  It’s always been my maxim (yes, I have a maxim.  Actually, I have two; the other being that there is a song for everything), that if you can’t write, read.  Over the weekend, I couldn’t write.  So I read.  And now I can write again.

I feel refreshed.  I feel energised.  I have my cuppa.  Have at thee, book!

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