Writing at a Moving Target

We’ve all heard the phrase, “Life is a moving target.” If nothing else, it’s been made pretty famous by a store of a certain name. I wish, though, that it wasn’t moving so fast. I wish it would stop, especially when it comes to my writing.

For a brief time, I thought I had a handle on this whole writing lifestyle. Then my oldest daughter was born five years ago today and she threw my life on its head.

I eventually found a new, though slightly more difficult rhythm. (I’m not a morning person, so those 5 a.m. writing sessions were a real bear.) After a matter of a few months, a combination of morning sickness and other ill health again threw things off-kilter. I can’t say I’ll never recover, but I haven’t yet.

I also can’t say I haven’t written anything. As editor of a weekly paper, I routinely write interviews and other features. As a writer, though, my heart and soul have always belonged to fiction. I haven’t touched that since months before the birth of my 21-month-old son. That’s too long.

I wouldn’t trade my children for anything, not even Stephen King’s career. Now, as I write this post, though, I try to block out the movie my five-year-old is watching (The Sword in the Stone if anyone’s interested)…and my toddler’s insistent (try throwing an empty bowl at my head) request for a fifth Cutie…and my two-month-old’s increasingly strident cries. I try to focus and wonder when the target will quit moving. Then I have to face the fact that it never will.

The target will never stop moving. Life will never be perfect. The kids will grow up and something else will happen to take my attention. So, if I want to be a writer, I have to become a sharpshooter and try to hit that target no matter how fast it’s moving or how much it zigzags. I just have to figure out how.

How do you write when your life is a moving target?

Some of the things that keep my life a moving target.

"Your Focus Needs More Focus"

Our satellite provider recently gave us a weekend preview of some movie channels. That gave me the chance to watch (most of) yet another movie I'd missed in the theater...The Jackie Chan version of "The Karate Kid."

Okay, I liked it. Yes, it was a remake, but still... I'm a huge Jackie Chan fan, and this role shows a different facet of his character. It also seems Jaden Smith may have inherited his parents' mad acting skills. If nothing else, it was worth watching for the breathtaking views of China.

Those who have seen it will probably remember the scene on the pier, right after they climbed the mountain to drink from the spring. Dre was anxious to try what he'd seen an advanced Kung Fu master do on the trip up. When Mr. Han tells him he needs to work on his focus, Dre replies, "I'm focused." Milliseconds later, Mr. Han has a startled Dre hanging inches from the cold water. Then comes the line I loved.

"Your focus needs more focus."

I can't say for sure what the writers, directors and Chan himself might have meant by that line, but I know what lesson I got from it. Dre was focused. He was focused on the end result, on his vision of himself as an invincible Kung Fu warrior. That's good as far as it goes, but it's not enough.

Dre lacked a focus on the here and now. His aspirations were good, but he needed to focus on the present, on each move and principle that would take him where he wanted to go. Without those, he could focus on his dream forever without moving any closer to it.

I think the same problem of focus can hinder writers. It may not be that I'm not focused. I may be very focused on the fame or wealth I believe writing can earn me. The thoughts of movie rights and book signings might claim all my waking thoughts. Yet, to even have a shot of getting there, I can't focus solely on the prize. I have to focus on the writing.

Dre had to focus on movement, on anticipating his opponent and shutting out distractions. As writers, we need to focus on the art, on developing plots and themes and characters, on crafting descriptive prose or breath-stealing poetry. Then we advance to focusing on the technical skills of getting published: how to connect with editors and agents, how to write query letters and cover letters, and the legal aspects of rights and contracts.

When we have a grasp on that, we can think about fame. Maybe. Having made our writing and marketing skills second nature, we can consider some of the perks of success. Then, and only then, may we be ready to charm the snake.

Personal Perspective: Birthdays, Cats and Patience

It’s almost my birthday.

That makes it the perfect time to post something on Christina Katz’s topic of the week…patience.

It’s common to associate youth with impatience and, conversely, age with wisdom and patience. I feel I’ve been running backward on the treadmill.

When I was a small fry, I seemed to have a limitless supply of patience. I was known--much to my parents’ chagrin--for taming any feline within a mile radius. It didn’t matter if they were strays, barn cats, feral felons, whatever. I eventually had them all eating out of my hand. Yes, literally. I didn’t manage that by sticking them on a schedule. I did it through hours of patient kindness.

It was the same with any childhood pursuit. I spent hours on anything that fascinated me, whether it was playing pretend, drawing, painting, music, walking or writing. Even my mother commented on my patience. It wasn’t a matter of rigorous character development, though. Patience came easily

When I obtained my M.A. at the ripe age of 24, I still felt patient. I was going to take the world by storm with my writing. It would happen soon. I could wait that long.

Taking the world by storm, though, gave way to a steady job that paid the mortgage. Months slipped by, then years. I grew older. A couple of short stories were published. The world remained untaken.

It was then that my patience began to wane. I started seeing that my supply of time was not limitless. With each passing birthday, I saw more of it slip away. Someday, it would run out. Where would I be when it did? What would I have accomplished? What would I leave behind to show my path through the world?

A professor told me once that you’re not a rookie in writing until you’re 40. I hope to heaven that’s true. If it is, I still have time left to be patient.

I still have time…if I’m not hit by a bus. If I don’t get cancer. If a tsunami doesn’t wipe me out. It’s more than my biological clock that’s ticking. Not only do I see my natural years floating by, unused; I’m also faced by my own mortality. My sister was 41 when she died. Was she still a rookie? I don’t think so.

I know patience is important. It’s true more so now than when I was taming tabbies and writing adolescent poetry. I know the need for quiet stillness in which ideas can develop, the need to let stories percolate and not send them out in the world before their time. I know the need to sit through one to six months in patient activity while waiting for an agent to respond.

As I enter mid-30s territory, though, I find it more and more difficult to truly be patient. I don’t want to be a 40-year-old rookie. I still want to take the world by storm. And, as another birthday prepares to fly by, I’m running out of time.

So, before my birthday on Saturday, I take a deep breath and consider the future. Seven years until I’m 40. Seven years to work on my writing. Seven years to get myself in shape for the major leagues. Seven years to be patient. Seven years?

I don’t know if I’ll last that long.