Sleeping in the Chair

Writing takes time, and there's never enough of it. Every writer I know writes while his family sleeps. Every fortunate writer has a family who forgives, friends who overlook the things we do to feed our compulsion.

     "I'm Michael McKinney", I say to the circle of strangers, "and I'm a writer."

     My novel, A Thousand Bridges, came out in 1992, and because of the good reviews I was guest author at a lot of writers' conferences. At each of them, there was the inevitable panel of writers. We sat on some raised stage, behind a table, each with a little microphone, imparting wisdom to a crowd of hopefuls.

     I sat there listening to so many writers as they told the audience how to write. There was the reference to Hemingway and the fact that if you didn't write at least a thousand words a day you couldn't call yourself a writer.

     Bullshit. Hemingway also stood up to type and blew his brains out when he was still young enough to create more great stories.  I was honored to share a page in Publishers Weekly, and a writer's conference, with Lorien Hemingway, and she's one hell of a writer. Both our books were chosen by PW as Top First Novels in the same year. I remember she said that, in her family, it was "kill or kill yourself."

     Don't kill yourself. Write. Don't let anyone stop you.

     Nobody knows how to write, as though there were a manual somewhere with exploded diagrams and a handy index.

     Whether it's music, novels, paintings, any form of creativity, you alone know your heart. Your timetable is yours alone. You know where the dark corners are, the sharp edges, the peaceful fields. You alone.

     What I try to say at each conference is the only thing I know to be true to me. No one, at the end of your life, will stand over your casket and say, "He was a good man, but he never wrote a book."

     Or a song. Or painted a picture. You're the only one who cares. Don't create if it hurts you. I hear authors tell a crowd, "Writing is like cutting my wrists with a rusty razor."

     Then, don't write. If revealing the truth inside you is that painful, maybe you should keep it to yourself.

     The only thing you have to do to be a writer is to write. Books, songs, poems, it doesn't matter. Published, unpublished, you're still a writer. Don't let anyone say you're not. I've heard so many authors talk about how the ‘only' way to write is to block off a section of time, regular as clockwork, and force your Muse to sit there, stroking you while you think.

     Maybe, if you have that kind of Muse.

     My Muse is more like a lover; showing up when she wants, staying as long as she wants. She'll leave in a huff over the smallest argument and be gone for weeks. All I can do is hope she's away on business, some mission of mercy and not in the arms of another man.

     Sometimes, she taps shyly on the door, other times she rips it off its hinges, bowls me over, sits on my chest and whispers in my ear, "Do what I say and you won't get hurt."

     She doesn't like it when I get in the way, when I try to mold a song or story in my image. ‘They're like children', she says. ‘You give birth to them but they're not reflections of you'.

     Creativity is a great mystery, and there's nothing like lying in the arms of the Muse afterward, listening to the rain, feeling the cool air, the sheets, her warm breath.

     Writing is a dreamworld to me. My wife, Maggie, and I have lived together, close to each other for almost 40 years and though she's a great songwriter we've never written anything together. My creativity comes from a place unlike hers, the paths are different for each of us.

     I'm fortunate enough to be a published author, with a well-respected agent in NYC, but that business is on the ropes. Of course, so is pulp wooding, so are the sawmills here at home. Hard times are everywhere.

     And I'm not sure I have any advice that would help you, or anyone, with writing. I've never written at the same time every day, or even every day. I don't set a goal of a thousand words, or a limit, either. I've been known to party when others work, and to write for days on end. Without sleep.

     Now, I'm trying to imagine how to start a blog that might be readable. I guess I should say here that I have a website called  http://www.athousandbridges1992.com  and it has links to Kindle, Nook and the other eBook readers. Now that I've decided to re-release the novel as an eBook, I'll hold my breath, hoping someone notices, because I have a completed sequel to it, and four other novels ready to try out this wonderful new medium.

     I know this is long-winded. Sorry. I wait to hear from you, and to learn the etiquette of blogging.

     Mike