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November 22, 5:22 p.m. I have already changed into flannel pajamas and slippers, thus proclaiming that I have no intention of leaving my hotel room tonight. I sip chardonnay from a drinking glass, munch baked potato chips, and luxuriate in the twin blessings of silence and indolence.
In 2000, I went on vacation alone for the first time. The prospect of a week on Captiva Island, reading and swimming and reading again, was delicious. Of course, the dilemma was what to read: mysteries, literature, general fiction, essays, or something else. Who knew what I’d feel like reading on a given day? So I did what any reasonable person would do: I loaded up my suitcase with books and tucked some clothes in around them. At the Fort Myers airport, as I tried to lift my suitcase into a rental car, I found myself wishing there was an alternative to hauling a library around.
(Photo credit: bellablissclothing.wordpress.com)
Remember Eloise, the little girl who lived at The Plaza in New York? Granted, Eloise was a six-year-old who lived in the penthouse at a luxury hotel, not a temporarily-displaced writer with five cats who is trying to juggle a day job, regular day-to-day minutiae, and all the calls and texts and emails and errands that accompany crisis management. Still, I can’t help thinking that her experience is ever so slightly different from mine. Continue reading
Two weeks and four days since the fire. Another four to six weeks until I move home (a fact I learned on Friday, when I thought I was on the cusp of returning).
When you’re not in your own home, your own workplace, your own world, one of the first things you discover is that everything takes five times as long to accomplish. At home, rituals and shortcuts and routines that can be executed without thought. Away from home, there are all sorts of steps: Continue reading
As the old saying goes, if you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans.
Two weeks ago, I posted with great satisfaction about my 100-day challenge and how I’d established all sorts of routines to make it work. At that time, I felt confident I could see this through.
Yesterday, I fell off the wagon, so to speak. Continue reading
I first heard about the 100-day project on September 1, when violinist Hilary Hahn posted that she had practiced the violin for 100 days straight.
Apparently, there are all sorts of 100-day projects and challenges for everything from developing your creative side to reaching personal goals. The true purpose of many of these challenges seems to be building good habits (such as “Floss every day for 100 straight days.”).
September 14, 1987-May 26, 2009
She was special.
Whenever I talk with someone who’s venturing into the weird and wonderful world of writing, I inevitably get this question: “Do you know of any books that would be good for me?” As a matter of fact, I do. The bookcase in my front hall houses dozens of such volumes. Some are essays about writing and creativity; some are about the writing life (such as Annie Dillard’s The Writing Life); some focus on craft; some are resources on specific topics I’ve written about or intend to (Deborah Blum’s The Poisoner’s Handbook is a gem for those writing about murder); some contain writing prompts or odd facts designed to stir up the muse (The Book of Useless Information, by Noel Botham and The Useless Information Society). Continue reading
In the U.S., today is Labor Day, the day we honor the American worker. It’s also the last day of my six-day vacation (three weekdays and a three-day weekend), and much of it will be spent organizing and preparing for the next several weeks in which I have at least four major deadlines. Since my vacation’s finale falls on a day celebrating those who work, and since I plan to spend much of it preparing for work, I’ve found myself thinking what work means.
Much has been written on the subject of work, such as Studs Terkel’s famous book, Working: People Talk About What They Do All Day and How They Feel About What They Do. Most of us will have paid employment at some point in our lives; many others will perform unpaid labor, whether for our families or as volunteers. Some will have the privilege of choosing our jobs; others will end up in a position out of need or lethargy. Continue reading
P. Jo Anne Burgh 