It occurred to me that most readers probably have no real idea what goes on in a writer’s day. Days can vary, of course, but I had a good one yesterday, so it sort of illustrates the sort of day I like best.
Here’s how it went:
I’m up at about 5:20. This is no longer annoying, it just is. When I had babies and then little boys I had to get off to school I actively dreamed of the day I could start sleeping in. By the time I got there, my body clock was set, and I’ve learned to accept it. I am, sorrowfully, an early riser.
I get myself a giant glass of water–hydrate after a night’s sleep. I let one of the dogs out. The other isn’t interested. Fine with me. I go up to my office. I read some emails, poke around see what’s what in the world. I play some games.
It’s nice, it’s quiet. The phone doesn’t ring, and my brain is starting to wake up. At some point I hear my husband get up. He lets the other dog out. I hear his coffee machine.
I go down get my version of caffeine. Diet Pepsi. Ah, NOW that’s better! Morning fog lifts. We can work now.
Speak with husband first–it’s only right. Kiss him goodbye as it’s unlikely I’ll be back down before he leaves. And I get to work. It happens I’m working on the last part of the second draft of an In Death. I’m not sure I have the pathology of the villain quite right, so fiddle as I go. I enjoy these people, and the second draft gives me the chance to fix any mistakes I find, expand where it needs to, contract if it needs that, add some color and texture where I might have skimped just trying to get the story down.
I eat Cheeze-Its, drink DP, play with Eve and Roarke and the gang.
At some point–I don’t pay much attention to time in my office–I go down, refill glass with water. Realize I haven’t brushed my teeth. Good God. Do so immediately.
Go back up to my office. Allow myself to play for a few minutes. Check email, answer maybe. Maybe not. Back to work.
Annoyed that the phone rings, don’t answer TeleFund one time, Out Of Area another, Private Caller yet another. Stop ringing! Go away.
I’d really like to get a good chunk of this draft done, be sure the story’s moving as I want–or more accurately, as it wants and it should. Pretty happy with it. Work. Let dogs in. Work. Let dogs out. More water.
Brain getting tired. It’s time to stop. About four–good time to stop. Time to work out. Down into my little gym, pick a DVD. decide to mix it up. Some cardio, some resistance with weights, some mat work. An hour of that, and it’s good for the day. Let dogs in. They have me trained. Whatever time I finish a workout–a morning one, an afternoon one, doesn’t matter, they wait, watch for me. I let them in, and they rush like maniacs to the kitchen closet where we keep the dog biscuits. Their eyes are mad with joy and anticipation. But their butts hit the floor, as that’s the rule. Good dogs! And as is habit for unknown reasons to the human involved, they go to separate corners, devour said biscuit then must immediately be let out so they can run like mad things. What’s in Milk Bones that causes this? No one really knows.
My husband has requested pasta for dinner–this pretty quick pasta dish I make, and that works as it’s already after five–and he’s home early because he’s working on a project in our great room.
Pour some wine–yay! Talk to husband, start dinner. Let dogs in who now collapse, exhausted from Milk Bone mania.
Cook dinner, approve the on-going project. Eat dinner. Good pasta. Have another glass of wine. Yay.
He’s brought home books from the bookstore for me to sign–it’s Monday, and three days a week, I sign books after dinner. Sign books while I watch TV. Have another Diet Pepsi. Let dogs out. Watch TV, play with IPad. Let dogs in. Why aren’t I in my pjs? Remedy that. See that I forgot to call in the galley corrections on Festive In Death as they’re still sitting beside the bed where I worked on them the last several evenings. Damn it.
Must do that tomorrow, because I don’t want to go back up to my office now. Happy The Blacklist is back. Love me some James Spader.
Watch a little Jon Stewart, go to bed.
So this is a pretty good day for me. Few interruptions. Probably about ten hours ass in the chair, and about seven of that actively working. A couple hours of play in there, and some time going up and down for fluids and dogs. A good workout, an easy dinner prep, and good TV.
Some days don’t go so well, but when they do, this is a pretty typical one for me.
