You deserve a break this month. A break from me and all my whining. Perhaps a break from my cryptic updates about “the Keddie book.” Welp, I’m here to give it to you. You’re welcome.

This summer isn’t what I’d anticipated by a long shot. Among other things, family matters have forced me to take an uneasy break. One I didn’t want to take. However, I’m beginning to think this break was necessary. If only I’d thought of that earlier so I could enjoy it. Go figure.

I’ve decided to focus this month’s blog post on the process of writing. Specifically, my process. The things that have shaped my little rituals. If you’re a fellow writer, some of these things may make you chuckle at their familiarity – or their outright absurdity. If you’re a reader or someone who comes here once a month to gain insight (ha!) into what I’m doing, you may enjoy having that glimpse into the insanity of what I do…or try to do…every day.

There are all “types” in the writing world. There are disciplined and write during “office hours” with ease and dedication. They’re focused and on track. Reliable. Almost devoid of the need for a deadline because they always deliver.

Another type is the one society likes to portray. The “tortured artist” writer who stays up late into the night because “they must.” The drink-until-they-pass-out writers with an obsessive need to purge their souls, guilt, desire, and overarching angst. For the tortured artist, angst is a prerequisite.

Then there’s a sort of amalgam of the two. If the disciplined writer is on one end of the spectrum and the tortured artist is on the other, the amalgams can be anywhere in-between. Perhaps a day drinker with a deadline they struggle to meet. Or a dedicated caffeine-fueled author who stays up late after their full-time job to get that next chapter done despite not having any deadline at all. There are writers who spend their days in the library with their laptops. Some writers these days even compose their work on tablets or online writing programs on their phones.

Yeah. Not me. At all.

Over the decades, I’ve been a few different types. I’ve been the writer who composes in spurts, juggling jobs and family and various obligations (and writer’s block!). I’ve been the writer who battles periods of depression and lives inside characters who as often as not refuse to cooperate. I’ve been the writer who dwells on problematic scenes when battling insomnia because I can always rely on that scene putting me to sleep before I resolve it. I’ve been the writer who is so focused that I wrote a 150K-word novel in six weeks and needed little revision despite having 3 editors review the work. I’ve been the writer who can’t seem to get there…resulting in a decade to finish a novel.

As I said, it’s a spectrum. I think I’ve moved along that spectrum non-stop for many years while never fully reaching either extreme.

But now, I’m at a place in my life where I’m relatively settled (man, I hate to say that because it doesn’t seem like me at all). My kids and grandkids no longer live with me. I write full time. My surroundings are simple and quiet. Although happily married, my husband is often gone for work, meaning I have ample solitude. Given my optimal environment, I’ve been able to figure out the best version of my professional self, and where I most naturally fit on the artistic spectrum.

Here are a few things that foster the best results for my work. They’re like little jigsaw pieces, and they must all be in place if I’m to complete the puzzle.

First off, the mental component. I need to be able to concentrate. Fully. No distractions. In fiction, I need to stay “on genre.” If I’m writing a book set in the music business, I have to fill my time away from my manuscript with similar mental stimulation. Songs from whatever era the setting of my book takes place in. TV/Film viewing that keeps me focused on where I am in the book – a rock star documentary or book, for example, or a movie that takes place in or is adjacent to the entertainment business. That sort of thing.

For non-fiction, I need a whole lot of research material around me at all times. Books, articles, websites, documentaries, and human sources to speak to or bounce ideas off of at all time of the day and night. It’s different than fiction, because it becomes a way of life. It is your life. You’re “in it.”

Second, there’s the emotional aspect.

While not the tortured artist, per se, I do have to marinate myself in feeling. This is true of both fiction and non-fiction. The feel is of utmost importance in my world. In fact, I’ve worried some family members in the past by diving head-first into rather deep depression on the precipice of starting a book or chapter of a book. It works for me. I just have to be sure not to cross any thresholds, if you know what I mean.

I’m best when I sequester myself in a narrow existence during the creative process. No calls. No friends. No outside obligations (including going to the grocery store or cooking – sorry honey!). No politics. No family drama. No banal discussions with my neighbor when I have to take my dog out to do her business (and not even that if my husband is home). Just me, my den, and a closed door. That’s ideal.

Finally, there’s the physical component. Over time, I’ve learned things about myself and setting myself up for writing success. I’d like to say that I use my laptop to write “wherever” – coffee shops, hotels, waiting rooms, my bedroom. Sometimes, I can write in bed, but the other places mentioned? No way. It’s stupid for me to even bring my laptop with me on trips. Between having to deal with hotel Wi-Fi passwords and worrying about shared networks and having the stress of knowing I’ll be packing back up in a day (maybe two), it’s just not something I can do successfully.

I need my den. My desk. My laptop connected to my big monitor. Internet access (I do a ton of research as I write, not just before a project starts). The basics.

But I also need stupid things. Need them. No joke. Without them, I just can’t get settled. Things like a few bottles of water. Lip balm. Hand lotion. Ibuprofen. A good set of speakers in case I want to listen to music to help me focus (classical is best for the most part because of the absence of lyrics). Pens. Scratch paper and note pads. Reference books. Files with printed material I’ve come across. A small trash can. A measuring tape. Nail clippers and an emery board. Eyeglass cleaner. An inhaler. A small basket of stupid snacks in case my blood sugar plummets.

I’m a day writer. Yes, I can write at night but that typically happens when I get a sudden burst of insight or become instantly obsessed with a word, phrase, feeling, or concept and I’m afraid I’ll lose my thoughts if I don’t immediately make a note of them – invariably leading to a “quick” two thousand words or so. For the most part, I need to wake up, brush my hair, grab a coffee, and sprint to my den. I check my email real fast, then pull up my manuscript. No discussions. No morning news. No breakfast. No “hello” to the hubby. Just a beeline from my bed to my office.

When all of these pieces fit together, I’m at my best. I’m up with the sun (habit), so I’m at my desk by around 6am. Before I know it, it’s 2pm and time to start wrapping things up. I only know the time because I typically eat one meal a day, and it’s around then. That’s why I sometimes need a nearby snack. If I’m on a roll, I munch on an energy bar or some peanuts to prolong my ability to finish the day. If I’m really on a roll, I can work into the late evening. It just depends.

Because I’ve become rather rigid in what works for me in terms of creativity, I guess I’ve also become sensitive to things that threaten my routine. It’s nice to know what works, but it’s frustrating to know I’m so easily distracted. The morning news (hubby) is a distraction. My dog is a distraction. Visiting relatives is a distraction. Having to eat is a distraction. Cleaning house is a distraction. Conducting interviews are a distraction because it interrupts the flow of the actual writing. Family losses or obligations, which I’ve had in spades this year? Distracting. Necessary car maintenance? Distraction – doubly so because I have to leave the house for up to the whole day.

Recently, my washer and dryer quit on us, and we had to replace them. MAJOR distraction.

These things conspire against me. They pile up. It’s difficult to shift from the real world to the world in which I’m immersed for a project – fiction or non-fiction. In the case of a hard deadline, the pile of “have to deal withs” cause me intense panic. But they also force me to begin operating with purpose. At some point, I have to take my life in hand, draw a line, and stop feeling like a victim of my circumstance. The best me with the best working environment is no longer optional. That time starts now. (I’ll still take my dog out when necessary.)

I guess what this all boils down to lately is the Keddie book (and there it is, bringing it up when I said I wouldn’t). The question is, will I make my end-of-September deadline or publicly humiliate myself by having to drag it out into October…or later? How far will I have to go to ensure the absolute must-have release date of April 2026?

Because I’ve struggled to get in the proverbial groove with my current project, it got me thinking back on my blog posts over the last couple of months or so. I thought, “Wow. What a whiner. People probably think I’m overly sensitive or making excuses for my lack of progress!” And maybe all of the events and situations of the last six months allow for a few excuses. Maybe not. Maybe doing this month’s blog about the way I work will resonate with my literary compatriots (or earn me a modicum of sympathy from outsiders).

Or maybe it all comes back to the angst. Like I said, when it comes to the arts, angst is a prerequisite.