What Writers Can’t Do While They Write
I don’t know about you, but I can multitask with the best of them. I can chew gum, eat, watch TV, read a book, and put together a jigsaw puzzle—all at the same time. Well, okay, maybe not quite, but almost. In fact, I pride myself on being able to do several things at once.
But when it comes to writing, all bets are off. I not only can’t do anything else when I write, I am so focused on the world I am creating that the one I actually live in could burn down around me, and I doubt I would even notice. Unfortunately, I can also write in my head—which I tend to do when I’m not at my computer—and oftentimes, the other things I’m trying to do not only suffer, they can be downright dangerous. So I have come up with a list of things that writers should never do when they write in their heads.
1. Get dressed. I was writing in my head one morning while I was getting ready to go to the law library and do some research for an outside project not connected with my WIP (work in progress). This was for an attorney that I freelance for and the information I needed was something that I couldn’t get online. Bummer. My WIP was going well and I didn’t want to stop. But I had to. I also had to change my clothes, drive to the law library in another town, and finish the research project so I could make the deadline when I’d promised to have it done. And I hate to break my promises. So after I got up from my computer, I kept writing the scene in my head. Bad idea. I noticed while I was at the law library that people kept sneaking glances at me. So when I got home, I took a good look in the mirror. I had on two skirts, god only knows why; two earrings, but they didn’t match; my blouse was inside out; and I had on one shoe each of two different pairs. My only consolation was that the people in the law library didn’t know me, and if I ever go back, and manage to get dressed properly this time, they won’t recognize me.
2. Walk. This is probably self-explanatory, and if not, it will be once you try doing it while writing in your head. I’ve walked into walls; fallen down stairs; stubbed countless toes; stepped on my housemates’ toes, paws, and tails; and covered myself with bruises from head to toe. See? Self-explanatory as soon as you try it.
3. Clean house. Other than the fact that it can be dangerous, this never accomplishes anything. When I wrote a chapter while working on my new book, Black Ops Chronicles: Dead Men Don’t, I knew without a doubt that if I came back to the chapter a day or even a week later, it would be just like I left it, all the words exactly where they were supposed to be. Not true of my house. I can clean it until it’s spotless, look up from my computer in a day or two, and it’s a mess again. How does that happen? My editor is always telling me not to keep repeating myself in my writing. But if I do it with housework, won’t it become a habit? Best not to risk it. And every once in a while, when I absolutely can’t stand it anymore and have no choice but to clean it, I use shortcuts—that way I can get back to the important stuff, like writing. For example, I have found the easiest and fastest way to dust is to walk around the house and blow on the furniture. It’s simple, somewhat effective, and doesn’t require me to track down the duster, which is probably stashed in the refrigerator, anyway, from the last time I cleaned house while writing in my head.
4. Cook. Thank god for smoke alarms! It’s not so much the cooking that’s the problem with me. It’s that I have no patience. My mother always told me that patience was a virtue, but I think she’s wrong about that. After all, if patience was a virtue, then God would have wanted me to have it, and if so, He would have given me some. But He didn’t. So when I’m boiling eggs to make potato salad, or browning meat for spaghetti, it just takes too darn long. And I’m standing there waiting for the water to boil or the meat to brown, and I’m writing in my head. Then of course, I have to run into the office and put it into the computer really quick before I lose it. (Because, after all, that water is never going to boil.) And then I just want to flush the scene out a bit. Maybe revise it just a little…and before I know it, the eggs are exploding, the meat’s burned to a crisp, and the smoke alarm is going ballistic. No, writers are much better off sticking with microwave dinners.
5. Go shopping. Seriously. This one can get you arrested, or at the very least, humiliated. The last time I took a break from writing and ran to the store to clear my head, I rushed up and down the aisles, gathering up the items I wanted and stuffing them in my arms. After all, I only needed a few things and it seemed silly to grab a cart or a basket when I could just carry it all. And I was in a hurry to get back to my computer. Well, after I gathered what I felt I needed, I hurried out to my friend’s car—only to discover that I had forgotten one minor detail. I’d forgotten to stop at the check stand and pay. So I had to take the items back into the store, walk up to the check stand—from the wrong direction—and confess my sins. Well, not all of them, of course, just the relevant one. Luckily the clerk had a sense of humor, and when I told her I was writing and not paying attention, she not only forgave me, she said she was going to go on Amazon and buy my new book. Which was great, however, if I’d been stopped by store security, the outcome would have been quite a bit different.
But despite that, I’m grateful that I’m a writer and always have an excuse if I’m staring off into space. And I’m in good company. Hemmingway used to do it too. And when guests would ask his wife if he was okay—as he was sitting at the dinner table with a blank look on his face, staring at nothing—she would say, “Oh, he’s fine. He’s just writing.”
I also have a great defense if someone is talking to me and I am not interested. One day, I was getting a lecture on why women aren’t good drivers. It’s one of my significant other’s pet peeves. Now, not only do I not care why he thinks women aren’t good drivers, I don’t happen to agree with him as I have known quite a few very good women drivers. (Of course, they aren’t writers.) So while I was nodding from time to time as he ranted on…and on…I was also far away in my own little world, happily writing in my head.
Finally, exasperated, he demanded, “Did you even hear me?”
“Of course, I heard you,” I replied honestly.
“Really? Then what did just I say?”
To which I replied, also honestly, “I said I heard you. I never said I was listening.”
I didn’t have to sit through another lecture for some time. ☺
ABOUT Pepper O’Neal:
Award-winning author, Pepper O’Neal is a researcher, a writer, and an adrenalin junkie. She has a doctorate in education and spent several years in Mexico and the Caribbean working as researcher for an educational resource firm based out of Mexico City. During that time, she met and befriended many adventurers like herself, including former CIA officers and members of organized crime. Her fiction is heavily influenced by the stories they shared with her, as well her own experiences abroad.
O’Neal attributes both her love of adventure and her compulsion to write fiction to her Irish and Cherokee ancestors. When she’s not at her computer, O’Neal spends her time taking long walks in the forests near her home or playing with her three cats. And of course, planning the next adventure.
Dead Men Don’t
File Size: 543 KB
Print Length: 314 pages
Publisher: Black Opal Books (June 25, 2014)
Language: English
ASIN: B00LAN3B98
Blurb:
A strange man has come to save her…but is he friend or foe?
Anderson Merritt’s been kidnapped, but when a stranger comes to rescue her, she isn’t sure he is who he says he is. He claims to work her father’s boss. But someone close to Andi set her up, and now she doesn’t know who to trust. Every man she’s ever known has seen her only as a tool to get to her father or his money, so why should this one be any different? As the sparks between them ignite, and the danger escalates, Andi has to choose—go off on her own, or trust that some men really are what they seem.
He doesn’t want to hurt her…but he may have to if she doesn’t come willingly.
Ex-CIA black ops specialist Levi Komakov doesn’t believe in hurting women, but when the place is set to blow and Andi won’t cooperate, he has no choice to but toss her over his shoulder and carry her out of danger, determined to keep her safe in spite of herself. But the beautiful little spitfire doesn’t make it easy for him. With her abductors seemingly always one step ahead of him, Levi suspects there’s a rat in the woodpile, but who? Could it be someone close to Andi’s father, someone in the FBI, or someone in the family Levi works for? When a new threat appears, and even the CIA can’t help him keep Andi safe, Levi puts everything on the line—but will it be enough?
Disclosure: This Information was provided by the Author. This is NOT a compensated post.
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