I could live like this.
Up at the cabin: wake up at 5:30 when hubby goes fishing; turn over and go back to sleep; wake up at 7, let the dog out, go out to the livingroom, open doors and windows and let cool air whip through the house, fall back asleep on the sofa till 9; take shower; read; grab a donut; go to library and do research for an hour; come back, have lunch; take a nap; write; go for a walk to lake; eat dinner; write; watch movies; sleep. Repeat. And Repeat.
Then the discombobulation starts. Go to bed. Try to sleep. Since I napped off and on all day, writing plots and ideas now come to the forefront. Get up. Write blog. Write Foreward to new book. Go to sleep at 1 a.m., something I’m trying desperately to change back home.
I came up to escape — to get away, to rest, to write. I’m under constant pressure back in homeyland to learn more, move faster, drive more carefully, clean more thoroughly — all that wonderful stuff that all of us do. So when we travel four hours to my father-in-law-now-my-son-and-our cabin, I do my best to unwind. To unplug.
Somehow, though, unplugging turns into disconnect in a heartbeat.
In my defense I could say my body sees an opportunity to catch up on its sleep/rest, and will be damned if anything gets in the way. That’s why half the time I’m pleasantly lethargic up here. The boys always go fishing; good for them. I hit the second hand stores; good for me. But all my plans for writing often get sidetracked by reading (I’m on the 4th Game of Thrones book now), baking, napping, and listening to the windchimes on the front deck.
Is this the world of the writer? Those who pound out best seller after best seller? Good, hard work followed by a nap in the breeze? If so, I’m pretty much a lackey in that department, too. Cool summer/autumn breezes and birds singing and no traffic and a lake in the distance aren’t always the inspiration for a murder mystery or a science fiction invasion.
I feel like a loser. 16 good hours of writing in 2 days boiled down to 2 hours of research, one hour of writing, one hour working on a friend’s website, and 12 hours of screwing around. The peace and quiet is so overwhelming it overtakes my good intentions.
I think it’s more I’m not as diciplined as I used to be. At home I squeeze writing inbetween playing with my grandson, watching TV, doing laundry and dishes, and yelling at the dogs. And it seems like I get more done.
I’ve screwed off enough for two days. I will go up and delete the word “forever” and replace it with “after retirement.” Until then I need to keep the mind sharp, the words flowing, and the blog pics amazing.
I’ll do that right after my nap.