There and Back Again, an author’s tale

When it’s time to sit down and write, it is often the hardest thing for me to do. Most days, I write from home. I’ve a cozy little office and a cozy little chair and once I’m settled, it’s all very charming. But those minutes (years!) that it takes my brain to transition from regular old me to SUPER ME–the me who tells stories–is not at all easy.

In fact, to make a go at this author thing, I’ve had to become an expert at ignoring. Everything, really. I have to ignore the stack of bills at my elbow and the half built Lego Lighthouse on the corner of the desk (the only place the 7yo is convinced will be safe from the destructive 11yo). I have to blatantly ignore the laundry and the dishes in the sink–and there are ALWAYS dishes in the sink.

I have to pretend I’m not really in my jammies, but wearing a cape and shiny spandex and that I have superpowers and, to be honest, by the time I’ve gotten everyone dressed and fed and off to school, sometimes my imagination has crawled back under the covers.

But I’m disciplined (most days!) and I do eventually make the leap from frazzled mom to author with a book to be written. Some days I make the shift smoothly and other days I’m less successful than Ron Weasley attempting to apparate out of the Ministry of Magic. Remember that? Left a chunk of his arm behind. Splinched. Awful, yes? But I understand just what it is to be half in one place and half in another.

The good news, I’ve learned, is that once I’m in, I’m in. Once my story has hold of me, once I’ve tumbled into the half-penned adventure, I’m all the way in.

Except!

Well, I share an office. For the last year or so, my husband and I have shared a space. I love having him home. Love, love, love. Some days I love it more in principle than in practice though, because the truth about his job is that he’s on the phone for huge portions of the day. Talking. Out loud. Laughing sometimes. Being friendly and charming. But, you know, out loud.

I’ve had to resort to earphones.

But, here’s the thing. Transitioning into my story isn’t the hardest part for me. It’s transitioning out.

Because writing is such an immersive experience, I struggle immensely when it’s time for me to hang up my cape and be mom and wife and dish-doer again. It’s difficult to wrap my brain around day-to-day tasks and to give all of my attention to those who so totally deserve it–my husband, my kids, my friends. For a fair amount of time, I’m half in one place and half in the other and, while that’s not ideal, I’ve had to learn to give myself some grace.   

Because writing is so very solitary. It is not an easy thing to climb in and out of worlds. We’re like travelers in that way. A few wistful hours with the imaginary friends and then back home for dinner with the ones who truly matter. Making the journey there and back again so often is both brave and hard. And the longer you’re a storyteller, the more you’re alone in your writing cave, the harder you’ll have to work at your apparition skills. But do work at it. Being splinched is messy.

 

I don’t know that I have much advice today except to say that when you’re writing, be writing. Your whole body. Your whole mind. That adventurous brave soul. Be there. All of you. And when it’s time to be home again, be home. Be present with your family and your friends. Go, do, play. Engage. Let your mind rest. Your writing will be better for it. And when you struggle with the transition between here and there, give yourself some grace. With practice, with discipline, you’ll get better at it.