So here I am with Thursday, today, off. I have granted myself a rare one day off with nothing planned. No appointments, decorating or chores to do. I take my partner to work early and return for a hearty breakfast and then sit in my office and begin work on writing the third assignment....
I granted myself the usual pre-work activities I afford myself in the evening - read the newspaper (online), check my emails and log in on Face Book as I have a nephew in Spain on holiday and I wanted to see how he was getting on. But it's not the evening - this is nine thirty am.
That done and on my second coffee, I open my A4 notebook and read the first couple of plot points I had written this plotting a few days (seems like a lifetime) ago. I know the characters' name is Amy and I know she is eight and she dislikes the water at the seashore. I begin. The first two hundred words come quickly. She is moving in the landscape, her attention on the sea lapping on the shore and the children, further down the beach playing in a way she doesn't feel comfortable doing herself - at least not in the water or even close to it. Then her Mother, reclining reading a book after their picnic, calls to her. It evaporates. I stumble, well not stumble exactly, just stop. I look at the notes. I am where I should be - or where I think I should be. There's something missing. I am missing something.
I get up and walk into our bedroom; I tidy up making the bed or rather folding back the duvet so it can air with the window open to the cold morning breeze. I am trying not to think too much. I finish my coffee. Put away some clothes, put some others in the laundry basket and then decide to go downstairs and put some washing on. I know this is displacement and knowing that I should stop. The washing machine whirrs into life and I come back to the computer and the two hundred words or so already written.
This is my day off. It almost feels like I shouldn't be working but that is a wrong thought, surely. I try and write some more - one hundred words further in and I am bumbling. I am not used to plotting first. Plotting to me is a dream of vague connections that present themselves like whispering callers each in line as I write, not a gathering of ghosts haunting around me already fully formed....that's part of what's wrong.
I get another coffee. Then water my plants....it's almost midday. Maybe food will settle me a little. I cook some scrambled eggs and find I am ravenous. I sit down and read my kindle. An hour whooshes by and I am tidying again but this time it's the kitchen and now the washing needs putting out and it's such a nice bright day, be a shame to miss this kind of drying weather.
And then it comes to me. Not the most dignified of revelation moments hanging up your smalls and your partners in the March sunlight when you realize why you can't settle to work properly. I have always been a creature of habit. Ritualistic is another word for it and once I adopt a ritual I tend to stick to it because if it works I am loathed to abandon it.
My ritual is to write at night - in the dark where there are few distractions. Not during the day. This day writing feels alien. My usual ritual is my partner goes to bed early and reads. I secrete myself in my office - check the papers etc and then after thirty minutes I begin work. I work for two to four hours depending on how well it's going and whether my energy levels are strong enough (or if I consumed so much coffee that I have no chance of getting to sleep any time soon).
This is what is wrong - this is the beginning of a new ritual; of having the time (should that be luxury) to be able to sit down and write during the day instead of doing my office day job. It feels wrong and we all know that a ritual, first time, feels odd.
Before I start to beat myself up about this, this waste of a perfectly good day of writing missed, I remember Nina's advice. When you feel off or cannot push forward - read and cut yourself some slack.
So I am - I have come here to write something and this feels good. I have broken one ritual in creating a plotted scenario. The second is to get into the habit of writing when I can - rather that at the set time I am used to. I have the Easter Holiday with my partner working every morning - so this is my chance. I look at the two hundred plus words and feel a little better.
If I am going to challenge myself on plotting in detail then why not try other things as well - if it works it will bed in and stay - if not I shall discard it - try something else or return to what works for me. Tonight, at eight thirty I shall return to my evening ritual and tomorrow morning I shall try another two hundred words maybe a lot more....rituals are just practice and perseverance after all.
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