Keep the espresso coming!

Keep the espresso coming!

Recently, I decided to become a writer.  I’ve actually been diligently writing a novel for a couple years, but a few months ago I quit my job teaching and left myself with no other answer to the question “What do you do?” So now people actually know.

Today I’m facing my first great test as a “writer”.

The only piece of advice every writer in history seems to agree on is that a writer writes everyday. So I have been. But today, I’m alone in my apartment, lacking inspiration, with access to Netflix.  And it’s raining.

I don’t think Shakespeare would have been so prolific if he’d been able to binge watch old seasons of Mad Men, Walking Dead, Downton Abbey, or almost any other show worth watching.  (Except West Wing! Seriously, Netflix, where the hell is West Wing?)  James Joyce would probably have been more straightforward if he’d been sucked into the Twitterverse daily while building his author’s platform.  Without a doubt Twain would have spent his afternoons watching the Daily Show.

And the rain! What is it about grey skies and a light drizzle?  I’ve had three espressos, but it feels like I’ve been hit by a tranquilizer.  Why can’t sleep be this persistent after my daughter has gone to bed and my teeth are brushed?  I could just go take a nap. I’m completely alone.  No one would know, and my bed is so conveniently located in the same apartment where I keep my computer.

No. I will remain doggedly at my desk. Why? Because I’m a writer.  More specifically, I’m a 32 year-old writer who hasn’t ever published anything, and that makes for some awkward conversations.  Oh, I’ve read lots of  inspirational, bucking-up articles to new writers. “If you’re writing, you’re a writer.”  Own it.  Be proud.  Hashtag amwriting.  Whatever. Let’s be honest.  Telling people you’re “working on a graphic novel” is only impressive if you’re sitting in a high school cafeteria and still legally required to be there. To the rest of the world, you’re just unemployed and probably going to have to explain what graphic novel is.

My situation is complicated by the fact my husband is a genius with a PhD and two full-time jobs.  To be clear, my husband is incredibly supportive and respectful of new career.  It’s not his fault he’s so damn impressive.  Well, it kind of is his fault he’s a workaholic, but he’s not the one who makes things awkward for me.  It’s other people.  Non-writers.  I had this conversation the other day.

Not-a-writer: “What have you been up to?”

Me:  “Well, I’ve spent the last two days on this synopsis and I have FINALLY, FINALLY gotten it down to a single page.”

Not-a-writer: “How about [the hubby]?”

Me:  “Well, this year he’s applying to the Ministry of Education to get approval for his master’s program.  He’s been organizing all the lines of research, hiring professors, and specifically recruiting professors with PhDs to publish in those areas. He published three or four articles last year and has two or three pending approval.”

Not-a-writer: “Well, if he needs someone to sum it all up in a single page, I know a gal he can call.” chuckle

Ouch. And that is a mild dose of the unintended condescension given to the yet unpublished.

So I won’t be napping because it’s Monday afternoon and I’m at work.  I’m writing.  And drinking more coffee.  And giving my emails a final check before getting back down…hey, there’s a new episode of Mad Men!