Working on Sunday

I had a lovely visit with a group of Richmond teachers on Friday and Saturday. When I met the seven women (and one little lady) at the ferry terminal, the first to hug me announced, "Your harem is here!" The conversation, food and drink flowed easily. For some reason, when the last person left yesterday, the writing didn't flow as well. (No, it had nothing to do with "clucking of the hens" as my friend Patti referred to the visit in a follow-up email.)

Whatever the reason, today is a new day and I am eager to write again. Yes, it's Sunday, but that's the thing about an unpaid sabbatical. My food cupboard will not remain miraculously stocked with no-name oatmeal. And watering down the portions will only work for so long. (Oatmeal soup,...mmm, mmm good!)

Back to the writing. I wouldn't want it any other way!

DAY 1--Bring on the Rain!

July 6, 2009

It’s a cloudy morning and the showers have begun. What a perfect day to start my year of writing! (Okay, I’m not the sun worshipper of my youth, but still I have fewer possible distractions. The lawn will not be mowed. The dandelions can thrive another day. The deck shall go unswept. Why is it that these tasks only seem pressing when I’m writing?)

I’m easing into this process. Some would be inclined to dive right in, but I like to dip my toes in to send a message to the rest of the body. Cold, yes. But, ooh, you’ll get used to it! Let’s hope. Last year, my Summer of Writing was a great experiment. I blogged and logged my experiences to hold myself accountable and I managed to write for period of time each day. Thirty minutes was the minimum while three hours represented a flurry of activity.

As I am embarking on a one-year sabbatical from my day job as a school principal and bringing in no money as of the end of this month, this little hobby must transform into a serious trade. Thirty minutes of writing? Bah! That’s a day off. Three hours—gulp, here goes—must be the new minimum. I will have to build up to that in the next week. Five to eight hours will be the goal.

Whereas I’d casually begun my days last summer, I will need to maintain more of a schedule for my writing. No lingering about in the mornings, letting Mr. Sandman influence my foggy brain. I shall shower, dress and walk the dogs to begin the day, then grab a cup—er, pot—of coffee and settle down to create, tinker, edit or connect with a character. I may even outline! That’s a radical thought for someone who likes to see how things flow, but discipline and direction will strengthen my writing. I can remain flexible enough to change paths when the plot or the characters compel an adjustment in the journey, but my endings will be stronger, more fully realized if they are considered from the outset.

For now, I am already behind. I failed to clear my desk this weekend to begin with a clean working area. I could spend the next two hours pondering what to do with each slip of paper, but I am giving myself two minutes to apply that deck sweeping desire to my desk. True, I will have (yet another) pile on the floor, but I can deceive myself into thinking it is an essential piece of “furniture” as my dog Lincoln discovers it and uses it as a new pillow. He’ll be better rested and I’ll be ready to write!

The Beginning

What have I done?! Sure, it was thrilling when I finally blurted to my boss that I wanted to take a year off work in order to write. Ah, what a dream!

Did I really say it out loud? Did my boss actually accept my leave request? Do I have the money to survive? Yes, yes and, well, let's hope. Perhaps a side query over the next 365 days will be whether a middle-aged man can survive off instant noodles. (True, it works in college, but so do all-nighters and toga getups. Aging can be cruel.)

I have gone from being a highly responsible elementary school principal to an unemployed, fledgling writer. I have been fortunate to have one children's novel in print, Fouling Out (Orca Book Publishers, 2008), but, contrary to what some of my readers believe, not every published author lives a Rowling kind of existence. I've had to let the butler go and--gasp!--refrain from hiring a housekeeper.

I shall blame last summer for my decision to take a sabbatical. I wrote every day and loved the creative process of bouncing from one unfinished writing project to another. When late August came around, I pined for the opportunity to pursue my writing more seriously. And now I've gone and done it. Instead of being a closet writer with big dreams, I am declaring myself a full-time writer to the thousands--er, one or two--who read this blog.

Over the next year, I shall share my journey. For anyone else who dreams of quitting a day job and following a whim to write, learn from my foolishness. Perhaps one of us will succeed!