A Desk, A Cigarette, and Big Bay Window? The Myth of the Writer

Today's Guest Post is by my oldest writing friend (and one of my newest best friends) Kristi Macho Jones. She is the author of two published novels, both of which I have read and reviewed in this space, The Corpse Goddess (see here) and Valkyries Kiss (see here). This is (I hope) the first of many guest posts by Kristi in the coming weeks, months and years.

A Desk, A Cigarette, and Big Bay Window? The Myth of the Writer

Dick’s written some great posts this past week about what it’s really like to be a novelist. (I love his post about the guy who completely missed the point)

He’s got me thinking about the myth of the perfect writer and what we, as writers, can do to resist falling into the trap of the myth.

I myself have fallen into the trap several times and in several embarrassing ways!

Years and years ago I read Virginia Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own. Woolf was talking to a different generation of women, but her insistence that a wannabe writer needed a room with a door and a hefty lock mesmerized me. I pined for that room. I tried to turn a closet into that room. I firmly believed that if only I had a room of my own, I would spend hours and hours weaving storylines and publishing one novel after another.

Looking at iconic pictures of writers, from Hemingway to Stephen King, they all sit in front of a tank of a typewriter, cigarettes dangling out of their mouths. I fell for this myth so hard, that I actually bought a pack of Marlboro Lights and sat in front of my computer, the unlit cigarette dangling from my mouth. Did it help? Hell no.

Nora Roberts smokes and drinks gallons of diet Pepsi. I can’t stand smoking and I don’t like diet anything, so I’m pretty much screwed on that front.

When my kids were little, I just knew that the day they were in school, my writing career would take off. Then it was middle school. Surely when they were in middle school, I’d be released from school plays and parties, and my writing would take center stage. I now have two high schoolers – I still struggle to find the time to write.

A writer friend of mine lives in France and she recently posted pictures of her new country house on Facebook. She outlined what I used to think was the perfect writing scenario. Her kids were going to stay with their Dad during the week, in their apartment in Lyon, (I know, who wouldn’t kill for this kind of life?) while she stayed at the country house to write. This French country house is idyllic, of course, with wide windows to stare out of and a large mezzanine to plant a giant mahogany desk. I clicked through the pictures, green with envy – for about ten seconds anyway. Then reality reared its ugly and ever practical head.

It wouldn’t matter if I had that house in the French countryside. It wouldn’t matter if I had my own room, my own office, my own planet. As I sit here in Starbucks, writing this blog post, I realize how much time I’ve wasted pining for the perfect set of conditions to make writing easier. The fact is, it’s damn hard. There is no magic desk, magic room, magic French country house. There is only your story.

 I’ve gone through it all. The perfect pen, the perfect laptop, the perfect writing program (Scrivener, hands down), the perfect weekend away from it all.

The truth?

There is always resistance. There is always something a lot more fun to do. Going to the movies, going out to dinner, surfing the Net. Don’t get me wrong. There is nothing more rewarding to me than writing. But fun? Sometimes. Most days it’s just damn hard.

What’s wrong with believing and trying to emulate the myth?

The myth can stop you from writing. If you don’t have a room of your own, if you don’t have limitless time to yourself, if you don’t have a penchant for cigarette smoke and a super cool typewriter/pen/computer, etc, you can convince yourself that you just can’t write today. And that is the kiss of death.

All you really need is the story and somewhere to put it.

So go to Starbucks, lock yourself in a closet, go for a long walk with a voice recorder, or work in the wee hours when all other responsibilities are put away – but write.  Just write. That’s all you really need to be the perfect, iconic writer.

Kristi Jones was born in Texas. She spent her childhood years travelling the world, living in England, Germany, and Turkey. She is married to an architect, has two wonderful children and a long-haired dachshund named Twinkie. Books have always been her constant friends. She also has a passion for history and loves to travel.

You can find Kristi at kristimjones.com
@authorkristi on Twitter
and
on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/authorkristijones