I haven’t written anything for this blog since April 19. The end of the school year always makes me scramble, and the universe has been pulling at my pigtails recently, trying to get my attention on some different issues. But the other piece of truth to all of this is that while I like to write regularly and believe in writing regularly, it doesn’t always happen.
When I’m in the thick of writing a novel, I take notes every day, write every day, and type every day. It’s a beautiful thing, and I love living like that. When I’m teaching, that practice gets often gets pared down to taking notes before I sleep, and working on scenes when I have a larger chunk of time on the weekend.
Sometimes, though, I’m so pressed for time that all I can do is think about writing—when I’m driving or walking or cleaning the bathroom. But I do try to stay in touch with it as best I can.
I really mean the phrase “in touch.” There are days when all I can manage to do is carry a little notebook around with me in my purse, tuck a jump drive in my jeans pocket, or pack a bag with a manuscript in it. When I was writing Paris Red, I would sometimes wear a necklace with Victorine’s name on it because it was the only gesture I had time or energy to make.
But that physical closeness to my work somehow matters. I do what I can to stay faithful to my writing: to whatever it is I’m working on, to my characters, to the practice of writing, to keeping writing at the center of my life.
I try to stay in love. It’s why I put a heart pendant in the photo at the top of this post.