(Re)productivity
Anyone out there working on a novel or similarly long and intimidating creative undertaking, take heed! I have discovered the formula for productivity:
1. Get pregnant, preferably with more than one baby.
2. Go to an artist and writers' colony in rural Vermont for two weeks
3. Add frequent rainshowers and thunderstorms
Presto! You will crank out at least 1500 words a day, for lack of anything else to do, acutely aware of the fact that in several months your time (and, likely, inclination) to write is going to vanish completely and indefinitely.
Honestly, I can't say enough for this thing I'm doing right now--getting away from work, home, wireless access, books about pregnancy, having to cook and go to the grocery store, and other vicious time sucks--to do nothing but write. Granted, it still takes some willpower to keep pounding out the words. And the daily routine does get a bit monotonous. But overall -- hallelujah. It's been a long time since I felt this much like a "real writer." And for the first time in years, I'm actually even letting myself dream (silly girl) about how nice it would be to write full time. Maybe, someday. Sigh.
Somebody here asked me the other night if I ever talk to the babies. (I'm being fairly open with folks here about the fact that I'm pregnant. Why not.) And that night as I was lying in bed I actually cried, thinking, my god, I'm a terrible mother-in-waiting! I don't have conversations with my gestating children! The fact is, they still just don't feel real to me. I don't have a pregnant belly (just what looks like a beer belly) and I can't feel them moving. I can't imagine what they will look like or become. I just don't connect them with *babies* or *children* yet. They're only about two inches long, their skin is transparent, and their genitals haven't fully developed. Should I be able to think of them as my babies? Do I suffer from a horrible lack of imagination? And if I did talk to them, what could I say besides, "Well--um. Hey there, sea monkeys. I hope you're OK in there. Can I get you anything? Another protein bar? Another nap?"
Of course, the woman who asked me if I talked to them is kind of loopy. There are lots of loopy people up here. It's great. And there are some less loopy ones as well, like the woman with a 2 year old back home who told me that she didn't really feel pregnant -- in the psychological, there-is-a-human-being-inside-me sense -- until she was 7 months along. I'm hoping for 5 months.
In the meantime, I am sincerely enjoying these incredibly selfish two weeks, sea monkeys in tow, but unobtrusive for the most part. Yesterday and the day before, I was pretty nauseated, which sucked; my fault for taking my prenatal vitamin too early, on an empty stomach. But today, appetite is back in full swing. Selective, but hearty. I try to get a little belly rubbing in every day, often at night before bed, when I tend to look and feel "bulgiest." Here's hoping the wondertwins feel the love, even if they can't hear it.
171 pages, 11 weeks, and counting.
1. Get pregnant, preferably with more than one baby.
2. Go to an artist and writers' colony in rural Vermont for two weeks
3. Add frequent rainshowers and thunderstorms
Presto! You will crank out at least 1500 words a day, for lack of anything else to do, acutely aware of the fact that in several months your time (and, likely, inclination) to write is going to vanish completely and indefinitely.
Honestly, I can't say enough for this thing I'm doing right now--getting away from work, home, wireless access, books about pregnancy, having to cook and go to the grocery store, and other vicious time sucks--to do nothing but write. Granted, it still takes some willpower to keep pounding out the words. And the daily routine does get a bit monotonous. But overall -- hallelujah. It's been a long time since I felt this much like a "real writer." And for the first time in years, I'm actually even letting myself dream (silly girl) about how nice it would be to write full time. Maybe, someday. Sigh.
Somebody here asked me the other night if I ever talk to the babies. (I'm being fairly open with folks here about the fact that I'm pregnant. Why not.) And that night as I was lying in bed I actually cried, thinking, my god, I'm a terrible mother-in-waiting! I don't have conversations with my gestating children! The fact is, they still just don't feel real to me. I don't have a pregnant belly (just what looks like a beer belly) and I can't feel them moving. I can't imagine what they will look like or become. I just don't connect them with *babies* or *children* yet. They're only about two inches long, their skin is transparent, and their genitals haven't fully developed. Should I be able to think of them as my babies? Do I suffer from a horrible lack of imagination? And if I did talk to them, what could I say besides, "Well--um. Hey there, sea monkeys. I hope you're OK in there. Can I get you anything? Another protein bar? Another nap?"
Of course, the woman who asked me if I talked to them is kind of loopy. There are lots of loopy people up here. It's great. And there are some less loopy ones as well, like the woman with a 2 year old back home who told me that she didn't really feel pregnant -- in the psychological, there-is-a-human-being-inside-me sense -- until she was 7 months along. I'm hoping for 5 months.
In the meantime, I am sincerely enjoying these incredibly selfish two weeks, sea monkeys in tow, but unobtrusive for the most part. Yesterday and the day before, I was pretty nauseated, which sucked; my fault for taking my prenatal vitamin too early, on an empty stomach. But today, appetite is back in full swing. Selective, but hearty. I try to get a little belly rubbing in every day, often at night before bed, when I tend to look and feel "bulgiest." Here's hoping the wondertwins feel the love, even if they can't hear it.
171 pages, 11 weeks, and counting.
posted by Jane at 12:55 PM
1 Comments:
I am envious of your productivity! And I can't wait to read the book once it's done.
Please keep us updated!
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