Desk vs. Dishes

I love Sundays. Take that Morrissey! I used to love Friday night, because it meant the whole weekend was ahead of me, but now I love Sunday because it means the weekend is behind me. Saturday, not so much. Saturday is guilty chore day from what you didnt' do during the week. I try to fight it off, to NOT do the dishes, to NOT watch Style network and get inspired by decorating projects that will never happen, to NOT clean the apartment, to NOT fret about going to the grocery store, to NOT think "I should really clean the kitchen floor," to NOT go shopping for thing I don't really need, to NOT worry so much about the aforementioned items. Ugh, Saturday.

The reality I have been facing lately--well, actually, the last five years when I finally decided that I would actually spend time writing than just secretly thinking about it--is that I have to use my spare time editing, writing, staring at whatever I've written. I have found it really difficult to not let all the "should be doing" stuff get in the way. It's as if my days are parceled out into hours that could be spent doing chores, or doing something that would make me feel better. Lately, I've been feeling like I'm a jack-of-all-trades but a master of none. And, in trying to break that negative-thinking style, I've been more aware of being proactive. Especially when I take into account that DG would rather see me happy than a tidy apartment. For that alone, I love him exponentially. Which is why, while he has been on assignment across-the-pond, I have been thinking "What would DG do?" It has been quite helpful in realizing that folding t-shirts is not a necessity before writing.

When I went to Key West for the writer's group, the one thing that both depressed (and inspired me, I suppose) was that 7 out of the 10 women in the workshop were 60 or over. Granted, it was in Key West, the idea being to attract women of this age group--retirees with expendable income. But, from my experience in writing groups and what I've heard from others, this is pretty much the norm for women writers. Many of them are really fantastic writers who have yet to be published, some of them have never even tried. I mean, if your writing is good enough to get you into the Breadloaf Writers Conference, then you are probably highly publishable.

The one common thread I've heard is that they never could find the time to write while they were working and/or raising their children. Completely understandable, but really a reality check for me at the same time. As DG so eloquently said to me during one of his rousing pep talks, "The only deadline you have is death." Perhaps a dark metaphor, but true. Anyway, I found this discovery depressing because all of these women, liberated, educated women, still had all of the other stuff to do before they could sit down at their desks. I will spare you my "Room of One's Own" update on the subject. Granted, this was a different generation and some of them had husbands who supported them financially, others did not and there were different expectations than today (somewhat). But even the most supportive of husbands still left the brunt of child rearing, household duties to their wives. Apparently, one woman who had two small children and signed up for a writing workshop with a Well Known Author was told by WKA that she would "Have to choose between kids and writing." Seriously, what is this "Sophies Choice?"

It struck a chord with me because I know my mother faced the same challenges and she is really a big source of inspiration for me. If ever anyone deserved their own column in the New York Times, or Oprah-like following, it was her. But I digress--it's infuriating to me when when I think of the innumerable men of their same generation and younger who did not even have to consider those challenges. Somehow, they managed to get their wives to go to work so they could stoke the fires of their genius (see: William Styron, Raymond Carver). I mean, good for them for having a spouse willing to do that, but I bet that 90% of those authors never felt one iota of guilt for not cleaning the kichen floor or getting to the carpool on time.

I had lunch with some of the women from my local writer's group (2 Hillary Generation, 2 of us Obama) and one of them shed some great light on the subject--she said that all of that "should do" stuff before you start writing is really just your ego getting in the way. It's what makes you feel that you aren't accomplishing all you can. I sometimes think that that mechanism is more honed in women. I know that DG doesn't need the dishes clean before he sits down and does his work. Or, maybe some of us are just more OCD than others, or just need to feel everything is in its place before starting a new project. Or, maybe it's just an excuse to never write. Over the years, the more guys I talk to who write--and wear it proudly on their sleeve--and women who write, the differences between their emotional connection to why and how they write is vast.

What I've tried to do is make writing a necessity like working out. I won't even go into the essay on "Why I Hate the Idea of Working Out But Enjoy the Results," but I just have to think of it in the back of my head at all times, like a mantra. Like, "I could sit on the couch right now and watch the last episode of The Hills and pretend that I'm critically analyzing it in terms of pop culture, or, I could write."

Summer Travels

I have returned from various travels:

1. England to visit DG's family, some for the very first time. I heart England. I have since Beatrix Potter days, but now that I have a real, live, loved one from the place--and English in-laws to boot--I heart it even more. How can you not love a place that invented Cadbury chocolate? We toured Cadbury World. We also toured this crazy manor home where the owner loved to "collect stuffed animals." By stuffed, they really mean TAXIDERMIED, and I can only thank the lord above that I was not born during Victorian era because if I had to sit in a parlor that featured a small monkey wearing a suit walking a possum-like creature, I would have certainly been put in the insane asylum.

All that aside, the family was so much fun and bent over backwards to cart my "I can't drive on that side of the road!" American butt around. and, paid with their powerful GBPs so I did not bankrupt myself touring Shakespeare's house. I will say that museums, attractions, etc. are so much better organized in the UK and Europe. Cadbury World could probably compete with The Smithsonian in terms of useful information (if you don't count the weird rainforest exhibit), and the Shakespeare House/Trust was very well organized so that you had many things to look at as you waited in line to see the actual house.

Say what you will about English food, but they've got us on organization and design of small spaces. The toilet on the train felt like the future, if that gives you any indication. Maybe because it's a smaller country it can do more futuristic and forward-thinking things like, having a Boots pharmacy in the airport AFTER you go through security? That Boots saved my sinus-infected self on my flight back.

Also, we went to Wembley for the US vs. England "friendly" match. I was afraid to root for the U.S. for fear of being booed, but since the closest seatmate was a pudgy 13-year-old boy, I figured I could take him if he got mouthy. And, after Kelly Rowland (Destiny's Child) sang the national anthem and I believe had her microphone intentionally cut by our hosts, I felt quite pro-U.S. You can say what you will, but you do not screw up the sound when a Destiny's Child is singing. There are rules, people!

There are NO RULES however, when it comes to the Top Shop in Oxford Circus. Yowza. It was like Forever 21 on steroids mixed in with lots of neon. Oh, and don't forget to double the price of everything in the store so it's no longer a bargain for Yanks like me. Boo, currency conversion!

All in all, I got to meet all of Daryl's relatives (near and distant), drank way too much tea and discovered that the English really do mean business about their gardens. I always thought it was a stereotype. I was wrong.

The weirdest part of the trip was that not that much is different than it is here. Aside from the driving, and ample use of public transportation, of course. For instance, we went to see the new Indiana Jones movie in a nearby town, and the movie theater was part of this mini-mall that consisted of a bowling alley, a restaurant called Tish & Tom's (ala Max & Erma's) or something, and lots of teenagers milling around a huge parking lot. Hello, U.S. suburbs? it was the weirdest thing ever, I thought I had stepped into an alternate universe where I was in a U.S. mall-park, but everyone spoke with an English accent. Is nothing sacred? Is the rest of the world slowly turning into suburban Ohio?

But, that's my only complaint.

Next update. . . wedding in Detroit