The time: Nine p.m. The place: my couch. My butt: comfortably plopped. My company: none. I exhale. Ahhhhh! It’s the only time of day that I actually can choose what I want to do. No demanding job, no demanding kids.
Guess what time it is, Blogtropolis? It’s “Me” Time. Woo-hoo!
On a good night, “me” time lasts from 9:00 to 11:00 pm (I physically can’t stay up much later than that). All the conscientious moms are prepping lunches for the next day and pulling outfits for school and work, maybe catching up with chores. Not me. I rarely do anything during this time for anyone other than myself, and I am unapologetic. This is my time. I take it very seriously; in fact, it’s not an overstatement to say that I cherish this time.
What I choose to do with this time varies depending on what “mode” I’m in. I seem to fluctuate between three modes: television/movie watching, reading, and writing. Really, what else is there to do from nine to eleven every night? I’d like to blog about all three of these modes eventually, but today, I wanted to tell you about my writing.
So, keeping in mind that I only have two hours a night and maybe a lunch hour here and there, here’s what I got going on:
1. A complete YA novel (first draft) about a high school love triangle.
2. A complete chick lit (?)/contemporary romance (?) novel (first draft) about four people finding love.
3. A complete collection of five short stories (first draft) centering around a weekend at the Jersey shore.
4. A partial chick lit novel with an apocalyptic theme.
5. Another partial chick lit novel about a dying young adult named Maple.
6. A complete screenplay (first draft) that has cuteness potential.
7. A half screenplay about relationships in the future.
9. A screenplay in the works (with a partner) that’s kick ass awesome.
10. Two scripts for a half hour television series that started out as a gag, but I think may have potential.
11. A partial short story about coffee addiction that attempts to be witty.
12. Four + blog posts🙂
Is this impressive? Because I feel like it’s a giant mess.
I am happy with my ability to barf out words. I love having an idea and getting it down on “paper.” Show me a blinking cursor on a white background and my heart fills with joy at the possibilities. I love writing, even though I realize that I’m no literary genius. Like the books I read, I enjoy writing simple stories about simple things.
Also, I’m proud of my productivity. How many people say they want to write something and never do? Here I am, two hours a night, typing like a mad woman. Editing during my son’s karate class on the Pages app on my iPhone. Thinking and organizing my thoughts during my commute. Jotting down notes on a legal pad during the work day. I guess that’s impressive.
My wish, however, is to finish a project to the point of satisfaction. Is that even possible?. Done to the point where I could confidently hand it to another person without prefacing with, “This sucks, I know. Don’t read it if you don’t want to.” As of now, only two people have been exposed to my projects–my two friends, N. (the blogger) and A. (the writer). While sharing my writing with them makes me nervous, I know that if what I give them sucks they will love me anyway.
I want to complete the partials. I hope to do so eventually. I want to edit and rewrite the finished projects- editing and rewriting are on my list of personal goals for 2013.
I do know that editing is the most important part of writing. Re-reading my projects will be time-consuming and will force me to confront my inadequacies. To me, writing is like the joy of eating the delicious meal you cooked, while editing is the dread of doing the dishes afterward. Productive, necessary, but nowhere near as fun.
Having other people besides my two friends read my stuff opens up a whole other can of worms. Hello, Vulnerability! Please. I haven’t yet invited any of my contacts to follow this blog!
Despite my reluctance, I’m pretty confident that I can do it. Right? Tell me I can! After all, I have my laptop, my couch, and my two precious hours every night. What more do I need?