Life as a Writer?
Fellow writer, Alan Campbell posted a great string of vignettes about his life as a writer here. He was also nice enough to point a link in my direction. Thanks Alan!
As I read his string of vignettes I became instantly depressed. I’ve had no Ouija sessions in haunted Italian villas. No trips to London for photo shoots with fascinating photographers. No Monopoly games that ended in pinging little green plastic houses into the fire. I looked through my darkened house, feeling the piles of laundry…the flaking orange pot of desiccated macaroni and cheese, left on the stove from last night — or was it the night before?
The girls were still sleeping. All four of them. The Christmas tree was dark. When the girls are older, I thought, I’ll have some more adventures. I’ll write my next book from a cabin in the woods of northern Minnesota. Or maybe I’ll go back to Europe and do it there. Nikki would love that. She misses France.
A good friend of mine is living in Cairo at the moment. He’s begging me to come see him in the spring. Maybe I can swing it. Maybe I can’t. Then the rational side of my brain kicks in and says very soberly, “Anthony, stop feeling sorry for yourself. You’ve had great adventures; now’s not the time. You’re in the trenches for the moment and you’re going to be there for a bit. So suck it up, enjoy the fact that you have a pair of books coming out, and be thankful for your girls. They’re wonderful. And crusted pots of macaroni and piles of laundry are something they come with, especially when both mom and dad work — it’s like the new car smell that comes with new cars.” It’s not actually pleasant (at least not to me) but you kind of like it because of what it means.
So there you go. It isn’t glamorous. Five AM comes damn early. That’s when I get up to write every day. I finish up a bit past seven, jump in the shower and head to the studio. I make video games there until about five in the evening. After that it’s off to fetch the kids from YMCA daycare. Then I make dinner sometimes…or buy it if I’m too exhausted. Maybe some of you can relate.
Nikki gets home late from her store. Sometimes I hear the TV come on downstairs before I fall asleep. She watches the Simpsons and has a bowl of cereal before bed. She works hard. I admire her dedication and her ability to deal with crappy customers who shriek at her after they’ve attempted to pocket the tester bottle of perfume next to the register.
She deserves more foot rubs. I’ve been slacking in that regard. It’s not as fun sounding as a haunted Italian villa, but it’s not bad either. It’s like sweat pants and a cozy sofa. A bit frumpy but comfortable. Real adventures can wait for a while. In the meantime, that’s what books are for.
