From the trashed office of the pages person

I'm rolling up my sleeves, and firming up my chin. I'm ready to take this blogging seriously. I am just finishing revising my novel before I email it to my editor tomorrow. My office is completely trashed. The floor only shows by the door. The dogs like it this way (my two toy poodles, Rene and Jacques, who will show up in this blog from time to time), more places to sleep. My desk is covered with folders, papers, globes, stars, kleenex, and even some dirty dishes. This is unusual. I am not particularly a slob, but when I'm in those final stages of trying to get something out the door, writing under deadline, I tend to drop things when I'm done with them and they fall where they may.

But now that my mind is temporarily free of trying to figure out if any of this novel makes sense, I can focus on trying to write about writing. Ron asked when we write. I used to be a night person, seriously a night person. But I'm also a pages person. What I mean by that is that I try to write three pages a day when I'm working hard on something (obviously, this is different for poetry, or maybe not obviously). And if I can get those three pages done before nine o'clock in the morning, then I get to feel sanctified for the whole day. But I do not beat myself up if I don't get them done until ten o'clock at night. I do find that I don't sleep as well if I work that late. My mind doesn't want to calm down as easily as it used to. That's why I tend to hook rugs at night. A nice repetitive activity.

Good writing to all whenever you do it.