by Donna Andrews of the Femmes Fatales.
I'm writing this from the Oakton Library, where Robin Templeton and I are having this week's writing marathon. We both enjoyed the writing marathon sponsored by the Chessie Chapter (our local chapter of Sisters in Crime) on February 10 so much that we decided to have our own little mini marathon every week. We started out meeting at the Reston Library, where the SinC event was held, but getting there took Robin through a big knot of traffic congestion, so we're experimenting with Oakton, which is closer to equidistant from our two homes and doesn't require either of us to brave horrible traffic. So far so good. We're liking the greater availability of plugs for our laptops, and the peaceful wooded view outside the windows.
What is a writing marathon, you may ask? You show up with your laptop or your yellow legal pad or whatever you write on. You write. That's pretty much it. When I first heard about it, I thought it was a silly idea. Why should I leave the comfort of my own familiar office to work on the laptop (instead of the desktop computer which I prefer?) But pretty much every time I do a marathon, it's productive. Sometimes staggeringly productive.
Robin and I started doing our weekly marathons on February 12. We've missed two Mondays—February 19, when the library was closed because of Presidents Day and Robin was traveling, and March 26, when I was out of town for my mother's funeral. I have no idea how long we'll manage to maintain this routine, but for now it's working well for both of us. Since I turned in the draft of Lark! the Herald Angels Sing on April 1, I'm dedicating today's writing hours to what I think of as the business of writing. Some of the business is also writing—like doing this blog, making comments on the cover flap copy my publisher provided for my review, and trying to distill the plots of the two upcoming books down to something that will fit on a bookmark.
And when I finish those—who knows? I might do some planning on the next book. Or brainstorm a short story. Or write a non-time-sensitive blog for future posting. Of course, it's always possible that before the marathon is done, my editor will get back to me with comments on the draft of Lark, in which case my writing marathon will suddenly become a revision marathon.
Why does a writing marathon work? I think it's the accountability. One of the hardest things about being a writer is making yourself show up at the computer on a regular basis and stay there until you get the day's job done. There's always something else that needs doing—the kitchen needs cleaning, the weather's just right for working in the garden, you feel a little tired and think a short nap would help you concentrate better. And while all of these might be true, and worthwhile things to do, if you're doing them when you planned to be writing or know you ought to be writing, they become writing avoidance activities. The sneaky, insidious thing about writing avoidance activities is that most of them are good things, things that need doing—which makes it incredibly hard to defend your writing time.
But when you show up at a writing marathon, writing avoidance is still possible, but less apt to happen. You came here to write. The pressure's on. There are one or more people there with you, writing. You follow their example. The laundry and the garden and the bed aren't here. Most of your usual avoidance mechanisms are out of sight. So you write. And after a while, you form the habit of writing at your writing marathons. You look forward to that weekly session as you would to a massage or yoga class.
At least I do. Your mileage may vary. If you've never done a writing marathon, why not try one? If it works for you, you've found another useful tool. And if it doesn't, you don't ever have to do it again.
That's one of the challenging things about writing. Advice on how to do it abounds, and you should ignore at least half of it. What works for me won't work for you. There are plenty of rules, but if anyone tries to tell you that there's only one right way of doing this writing thing, they're full of it. Ignore them.
And now on to today's next project.
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