My Life as A Writer Part Trois

I do this post periodically. I write a post about what it’s like to be a writer–from my perspective at that time.

It’s kind of fun, because it’s a bit of a time capsule for me as my writing career evolves.

Also, I think that most people have an overly romantic idea of what it means to be a writer…something like cocktail parties and snotty publishing release events. Maybe it is. I don’t know, I haven’t gotten to that part of it. My hope is that one day I will. Maybe by the time I am ready to ready to write this post the fourth time, it will include more of those elements. But, I write this as a sort of “Day in the Life,” for where my writing career is now.

10:00 a.m.

I wake up somewhere around mid-morning. I’m single, and live alone, so there’s no morning rush to get the kids up and off to school and all of that.

I throw on my work uniform—I’m a huge fan of althleisure wear. It comprises most of my wardrobe, and in this small, somewhat upscale community of suburban soccer moms and Etsy entrepenuers, it’s sort of the “go-to” weekday look for local women anyway.

Dressed in my racerback tank tank top, leggings and Acer running shoes, I walk next door to the breakfast cafe. I order some kind of sugary crepe and a boba tea. (That’s my new phase…boba tea.) I browse my e-mails while eating and skim a couple of e-mails from my editor. They loved last week’s work, and keep it coming solid with this week’s.

Cool. Although, I cringe that “next week’s,” work is supposed to be due tomorrow morning, and I’m less than halfway there.

11:00 a.m.

Breakfast conquered, I arrive back home, and pretend that I am going to get my work done. Instead, I clean my house, order my groceries for the week, and browse Amazon.

1:30 p.m.

Having finished my housework and online errands, I have no choice but to get to work. I grab my laptop, and turn on my white noise machine. Then, I open the windows, and patio door to let the fresh air breeze through the house.

Then, I open my laptop and look at my work for the day. I procrastinated all yesterday, and let’s be honest, the day before too. So, now I have three days worth of work piled up, and I’m up against deadline at 8:00 a.m.

I make a cup of coffee, sit down, and browse the notes from my editor. In today’s work, the protagonist meets his estranged mother as an adult. They have an awkward reunion, complicated by the fact that he still is a matter of international interest after having stopped a plot to bomb a global leadership conference. She showed up, disguised as a member of the press, and revealed her identity to him, and now he’s got all of these feelings welling up inside of him, while security and the world media frenzy around him.

Okay. Got it.

I open the files and read where I left off, and then starting writing. I write about half a page, have something of a perfectionist panic attack, and decide I have to go workout.

2:00 p.m.

Go down to the fitness center and workout, the whole time trying to find a way to fix the awkward run of dialogue that wasn’t working. I wished I had had time to find someone that had been reunited with their estranged mother as an adult–then I could talk to them about how they felt. But, I didn’t have time, and I have to rely on my imagination, and maybe a few movies. What movies dealt with this theme?

4:00 p.m.

After having worked out, showered, and dressed, then I look at my notes again, and freak out at the impending deadline at 8 a.m. Calculate that I have sixteen hours to do what has amounted to half a week’s worth of work. Freak out, and browse the notes again. Get in the zone and write for approximately forty-five minutes.


Reach the end of the chapter I’m writing, and need a break. Order food, and remember a movie that dealt with this theme of maternal abandonment, and download it from VUDU. Watch about half of it while eating, and decide that that it’s not relevant and turn it off.

6:00 p.m.

Go completely ballistic that I now only have fourteen hours to get in three days worth of work. Open the computer, turn on some kind of white noise and write like a maniac. I type until my fingers ache and my eyes droop.

Make goal sheets–fifteen minute breaks after every 1,000 words. Power through writing, as the numbers on the clock, and the light outside fades from dusk to inky black midnight…and not notice when the black fades to gentle pink hues of dawn. Like Dory….keep typing, keep typing…

7:54 a.m.

Turn in completed work to editor, six minutes before deadline.

8:00 a.m.

Crash into bed and sleep till late morning the next day. Wash, rinse, repeat.


2 thoughts on “My Life as A Writer Part Trois

  1. You’re right, the act of writing has been highly romanticized… I’m on the freaking bandwagon.. But this.. This sounds terrifying lol thanks the the insight!

  2. Lol! Welcome to the bandwagon. It’s not as bad as it might seem. But, writing professionally is hard work. Good luck and success as you walk the writer’s journey!

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