I’m writing this to you at 4:30 in the morning, sitting at my desk back home in Portland. Yes, you read that right: 4:30 AM. Because: jet lag. I’ve been waking at this hour every day since we returned home from France on Tuesday night. It’s great for getting writing done, but hell for trying to stay up past 9 PM.
And it bears on the topic I want to talk about today: time.
As most of you know, I spent three weeks in the south of France (the less-crowded Lanquedoc region, near Spain) teaching a couple of writing workshops. And time flows differently there. I actually began writing this letter there, in the Mediterranean town of Collioure, sitting on a terrace surrounded by ancient stone and concrete houses. A typical day went something like this: writing workshop in the morning, delicious lunch (often three courses, with wine), a petite nap, and then writing.
It doesn’t sound like the best time recipe to get a lot of work done, but I did. I wrote the first chapter of a new book, worked on the rewrite of my WIP, and took one more spin through the novel my agent is shopping. All the while feeling relaxed and happy.
How I wish I could replicate that feeling of productive ease here. I ponder: was it the sea air? Walking several times a day? The wine? (I truly didn’t drink it every day at lunch. But, um, there was plenty of wine every night.) But here at home, life presses in: appointments, client work, family obligations. Which is why, precisely, going away to write is such a great idea.
And yet, we can’t always do that, can we?
Time is such a slippery beast. It slows to a crawl when you’re waiting for something you want to do or someone you want to see, and it flies by without notice when you’re deeply engrossed in a creative project. (Which is why the old writing saw, fast is slow and slow is fast is so useful to remember. If your character is doing something with a slow past, dispense with it quickly. If something is happening really fast, slow down the action.) And most often, we end up feeling as if we just don’t have enough time.
In pondering all this, here’s my takeaway. I can’t replicate the atmosphere of a seaside village in France here in Portland, but I can consciously slow myself down. I can approach life with a more relaxed atmosphere and refuse to get caught up in the harried schedules most of us keep. I can say no once in a while (except to grandkids).
And hopefully, my writing productivity will rise in inverse proportion to my relaxed attitude about it.
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And if you’re interested in learning about next year’s writing workshop, head on over to the Let’s Go Write website and join the mailing list there. We’ll have 2018 info ready soon.