Today did not get off to a good start, though it did have a tremendous false start.
My alarm went off, and after a few minutes’ thought, I pulled myself out of bed. I sat down at my computer, finally getting an internet connection after a few minutes of it being persnickety. And then I got to work — for around 45 minutes, before being nearly blinded by a headache that came out of nowhere.
So, returning to bed, I sat down to try to stave off the pain for a bit. That’s the thing about me: if I were a superhero, a headache would be my kryptonite. Sore muscles, upset stomach, doesn’t matter. I can handle it. But a headache will nearly incapacitate me. I opened my eyes what seemed like a few minutes later to discover I’d fallen asleep for nearly an hour and a half, but the headache had dulled to a minor throb that has stuck with me the rest of the day.
After several Advil and gritted teeth, I’ve been able to get a good bit of work done. And now, day job finished, I’m poised to begin what I dub “super productivity” mode — I’ve got a pot of coffee ready, my favorite mug washed, and roughly 4,000 words to go before I’m allowed to see my bed. It seems a lot of work, and it is — but it will all pay off. See, the ultimate goal is to sustain myself through my writing.
One of the harshest realizations I’ve had since I began working from home was this: it’s not a vacation. I can sit at home and write a few hundred words here and there, or I can buckle down and give the keyboard the pounding of a lifetime and feel like I’ve accomplished something at the end of the day. It’s easy to romanticize the life of a writer — coffee, tea, debates about who Shakespeare’s “Dark Lady” was — and while those are certainly present, the reality is a lot of time in front of a computer, by yourself, getting the work done, even when you don’t want. ESPECIALLY when you don’t want to.
It’s a lonely job. I sometimes call family and friends just to talk to people and to bounce ideas off of them. And sometimes I sit and stare out my window trying to organize my thoughts. There’s usually music in the background, but a lot of times the only company I have is the silence of the house.
I say all this, and touch on the difficulties of making it as a writer, because it’s not so different from being a traveler. When I’m out on the road, there’s no easy escape. When I get a headache and I’m in the middle of the nowhere, there will be no couch to lay down on. There’s only going to be the next fifty miles of road until I reach a village or a place to pitch my tent. Still, I won’t give up then.
As much as I dream of life on the road, I know it will be very, very hard at times, but I can never give up once I’m out there, just as I can’t give up now, as I’m preparing myself both physically and mentally for the journey ahead.
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