Moving and Family
November 19th 2006 06:46
Apologies for the long gap between columns. Writer’s block kicked in with a vengeance, and there have been a bunch of issues at home, as well as work and death (see previous posts). I’m writing about them here because something similar may have happened, or quite possibly will happen to you.
Had to move again, from the no longer ‘spare room’ to the garage. Yep, me and the dog, out in the garage. No, wait, the dog’s in the house now, being spoiled ‘cause he’s getting old. And I’m in the doghouse. Mind you, as I clear space and put all my reference books and favourite novels back out, it feels at home. Even the large and battered old office desk I use is good; it may be a little bowed, and the surface scuffed and rough, but it’s great for a mouse, and there’s plenty of room for the two PCs I’m currently using (one for writing and internet, the other for songwriting and production). There’s still a lot to be done, the place is barely habitable, there’s lots of dust and it smells a bit odd, but if I take an hour every day to straighten it up a bit more, it’ll work.
Families are funny things. Leo Tolstoy said, in the opening line of Anna Karenina, “Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” And that’s the opening line! Imagine the rest.
Ohhh, I could have a much worse family. In reality, they are good people, there is definitely love, and I hold out great hopes that the second child will grow up to be someone special. But when it comes to them and my writing, the paths diverge; seen as an indulgence and ineffective. See, in my mind, the problem can be best defined in a quote I can’t find an attribution for: “Anyone, a tradesman, a businessman, a grandmother, can write, but it’s the only thing writers can do”. While I’ve had a stellar career as a builder’s labourer, counter jumper selling building hardware, stacker of bricks at a factory, part time muso, petrol pump monkey, IT helpdesk guy and sundry others, it’s only been stopgap stuff, not a career. I’m not real good at that stuff. Which also goes along with the underlying fear I may not be much good as a writer either, which does keep me awake in the wee hours. But it is The Thing I Do Well, I feel it in my bones.
What I’m trying to say: family will get in the way. For example, I’ve been struggling to write this column, and I had to pause and go off and pay for a lay-by for my wife. The constant interruption and lack of respect for writing time is soul-sapping. But I say to you, hang in there. One day, when it works… it will be sweet, sweet, sweet. The thing is to be able to gently move them to one side and get on with it. And now I have a much bigger space to spread out and, late at night, the silence is conducive to getting over the writer’s block that’s been plaguing me.
I’m on my way back.
Had to move again, from the no longer ‘spare room’ to the garage. Yep, me and the dog, out in the garage. No, wait, the dog’s in the house now, being spoiled ‘cause he’s getting old. And I’m in the doghouse. Mind you, as I clear space and put all my reference books and favourite novels back out, it feels at home. Even the large and battered old office desk I use is good; it may be a little bowed, and the surface scuffed and rough, but it’s great for a mouse, and there’s plenty of room for the two PCs I’m currently using (one for writing and internet, the other for songwriting and production). There’s still a lot to be done, the place is barely habitable, there’s lots of dust and it smells a bit odd, but if I take an hour every day to straighten it up a bit more, it’ll work.
Families are funny things. Leo Tolstoy said, in the opening line of Anna Karenina, “Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” And that’s the opening line! Imagine the rest.
Ohhh, I could have a much worse family. In reality, they are good people, there is definitely love, and I hold out great hopes that the second child will grow up to be someone special. But when it comes to them and my writing, the paths diverge; seen as an indulgence and ineffective. See, in my mind, the problem can be best defined in a quote I can’t find an attribution for: “Anyone, a tradesman, a businessman, a grandmother, can write, but it’s the only thing writers can do”. While I’ve had a stellar career as a builder’s labourer, counter jumper selling building hardware, stacker of bricks at a factory, part time muso, petrol pump monkey, IT helpdesk guy and sundry others, it’s only been stopgap stuff, not a career. I’m not real good at that stuff. Which also goes along with the underlying fear I may not be much good as a writer either, which does keep me awake in the wee hours. But it is The Thing I Do Well, I feel it in my bones.
What I’m trying to say: family will get in the way. For example, I’ve been struggling to write this column, and I had to pause and go off and pay for a lay-by for my wife. The constant interruption and lack of respect for writing time is soul-sapping. But I say to you, hang in there. One day, when it works… it will be sweet, sweet, sweet. The thing is to be able to gently move them to one side and get on with it. And now I have a much bigger space to spread out and, late at night, the silence is conducive to getting over the writer’s block that’s been plaguing me.
I’m on my way back.
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Comment by Adrian
Philosophy Blog
As to succeeding as a writer, my $0.02 is that either you love it or you don't. If you love it, then the activity should be enough, regardless of whether anyone else is reading, regardless of whether what you produce is publishable; and if you don't love it, then you should find something you do.
So I admire writers you spend their lives working, then burn all their novels and stories...