Since so many among us write for a living (either in the MSM or book-publishing world or both), would a few of you mind describing your daily routine to me? Do you take weekends for you you you? Do you have the discipline gene (or muscle)? I know some of you rise early; and, others work all night . . . Are you happy with your sked? Do you berate yourself when you don't follow it?
After thirty-five years, and a basically normal one . . . well . . . I live in a house meant for two and I have all this extra space and work to do, yech! (No, I can't hire a housekeeper and cook; but, if you wanna sponsor one :)))))) . . .
It's a different ballgame since there's only one of me and I'm finding doing ALL of it poses another set of problems that makes me wonder WTF I was thinking until I remember and wish I hadn't gone there; and, no, I don't wanna return there, EVER.
I'd appreciate your thoughts and approaches to getting through these miraculous vistas without sleep :). A dozen cups of coffee just ain't doing it for me no mo' :(. Somebody, please, tell me I'm not the only one struggling with finding a balance between work and life. TIA. Appreciated.
I wrote a huge reply to this then deleted it as too personal.
ReplyDeleteIn short, no, no work-life balance.
What keeps me from going totally mad - blogging, reading, online connections - in what little time there seems to be in between all the various demands and duties.
Sleep, ha! I wish.
Work/life balance? What's that? When they make a robot mom/writer/cook/cleaner/poet/maintenance person/alarm clock/nurse/student/sex object that can't be broken/blown up/erased by six-kids-and-an-adult, do let me know.
ReplyDelete*insane laughter*
ReplyDeleteBalance?!?!?!?
Um . . . er . . . ah . . . uh, I think I hear you tapping that napping's about the most I'm gonna be able to manage till I go for The Big Sleep, IOW? Maxine? Do you have live-in help?
ReplyDeleteBarbara, you have six robots :). Can't they go to the market or something? Can they work the washing machine and dryer? Do they know how to shovel snow? Can I have one or two of them, then? Just FedEx 'em :) . . . And, they'd fit right nicely, here; they'd not be strangers, they'd still hear a lot of the same music, it's not like they'd lose everything, eh? Wouldn't that give you more time? Like Lou said, "Take A Walk On The Wild Side."
Just begging, just praying, just wondering if I am ever going to see my furniture again and how long it takes for dust to turn into petrified sculptures (a.k.a. objets d'arts) or "interesting" conversational pieces since, by then, I am sure I shall be having discussions with me about me (and the neurotic neat-freak I used to be).
(That's one of the minor advantages of having a dog, IMO; not that it matters since, natch, there's no one to hear me, not here in my neck of the wild world; but, I miss the little girl; and, you know, I think that's why my routine went to hell; Lu kept me on track, I think. R.I.P.)
Ah, Maxine, I hear you; I think we're in the same boat, really; and, if you wanna come live here, you're welcome (but, bring your own paddle, K?); I have a study and bedroom I don't use (nor, for that matter, have I even visited for at least six months and that's just upstairs!).
Art? I hope I didn't put you over the edge or cause you to fall off your chair :( . . . BION, reading your "insane laughter" made me feel better; I wondered how you did all the stuff you did and was beginning to covet your time-management skills . . . I only have one question: Is your refrigerator frost-free? That's important to me. Do you have a self-cleaning oven? This is need-to-know stuff, right?
Thank you all for your very reassuring responses. I feel much worser, now :).
It's hopeless; I'm gonna just let it all go! I think it's time to set my sights on "low" and just go with the flow . . . downhell . . . swell! (At least I know I'm in fine fine company, that's a good consolation, something to tell myself when I fall over the stacks of mail I haven't opened since 2003, OMGasp; I'm sorry to everybody to whom I've not written, promise!)
But, ah, ha! Now, now I know why peeps stay married for a hunnert years; they need someone to shop and stuff (since I hate shopping; I just destest it; I cringe whenever I see a flyer, let alone an actual store. I'm f*cked, I think). LOL. INSANELY!
My freezer is frost-free, I do have a self-cleaning oven, and I hire a friend to come in and clean for me once a week. Other than that, it's all mine. I'm a minor neat-freak, and do not follow the Quentin Crisp School of Housecleaning, although a good friend of mine does. (Quentin once quipped: "After four years, the dust doesn't get any thicker." Actually, that's true.) The reason I'm a neat freak is that visual clutter creates mental distractions for me, and so a quiet, spartan, Zen-like environment is very conducive to my productivity.
ReplyDeleteOkay, this is really complicated, and a long bloody story, which is too much to get into here except in capsule form. But I live alone, in a small house (really, it's a condo, but they're detached, like houses, not apartments) in a quiet neighborhood in smalltown southern Wisconsin. I keep my walls bare, for now, having moved too recently to even want to cover them with art. I'm sensitive to environment, and I haven't lived here long enough to fine-tune things quite yet; I'm still working that out.
Seriously, though, I'm an artist. That's now my work, my job, my main activity. I don't work for other people in structured work-time jobs anymore; although I do freelance, in design, illustration, and commercial art. Writing is actually not my primary artform, although it's the one that seems to get lots of attention these days. Photography, video, music, writing, pretty much in that order, is my list of personal importance. Well, revision: music is the art closest to my soul, the one I care most about, and which is not always the easiest to get to do. It's the only one in which I can be thin-skinned about critique. I've been a commercial graphic artist and designer for so long, I burned out any ego-issues with that work a long time ago; just pay me, and I'll whore for you. Writing for some reason has never really approached music in terms of being thin-skinned; I've always sort of been able to stay distanced from the fray. Usually. Everyone gets caught up in it sometimes; but if I do, I usually catch myself quick, and back off again. The truth, self-esteem is the engine that makes everything work; and I no longer doubt the quality of my own work, even as I make no opposite claims towards abject brilliance.
The nice thing about writing is that it's easier for me than the other artforms, probably *because* I don't try to make a living from it, and therefore don't obsess about it; or maybe it's just easier, anyways. I've been at white heat lately, and more than happy to surf that wave for as long as it sustains.
I make some artful literally thing every day. I can't imagine ever retiring. Being an artist for me is not like having a "job" from which one ever needs, or wants, a "vacation." I hope I make something the day I die, even if it's just a haiku.
Context: I'm in the process of rebuilding my life, and starting over again; and I'm doing so in a way that allows me to make my (presumed) living from my creativity, which is where I've been headed for a long time.
Getting here was very rough. (Frank knows some of this; thanks again for the loan of the occasional soapbox, Frank.) The last few years have been exquisite agony. First I gave up my own (semi-stalled graphics/publishing) career to move back in with my parents and care for them, as live-in caregiver; now they're both gone. During that time, I also got sick myself, and had to empty out and sell their home after their close-together deaths, buy my home and move in, all while still sick. I'm still recovering. My illness' chief side-effect was (is) debilitating physical exhaustion; so I can only work a few hours a day, still. I don't know that I COULD get a regular job right now, as I don't know that I have the strength to work more than 25 hours a week, yet. My physical strength is coming back, but it's not yet what it was, and may never be again; or if it is, it might take a long, long time. Progress has been made; and there's a way to go.
The up side is, when I can't do any more around the house, or chores, or shopping necessities, I can come home, sit down, and make art. Making art isn't exhausting. At least, not so much physically exhausting as totally immersive and engrossing; it can be tiring, but not like chores are. And the laptop is sitting there on my grandmother's secretary desk in front of the big windows looking out on the beautiful natural world, which gives me endless inspiration; so I can sit down, and continue working, and make some kind of art, even while the body is saying, no more.
Plus, thanks to my meagre inheritance, my bills are paid, for now, and I was able to buy my home (condo), rather than get a mortgage. I'm on a tight budget, but I actually have time to make art. For the next couple of years, I don't NEED to get a full-time job. I'm hoping that by the time I do, my strength will have returned enough to be able to to; and that my creative business will also have kicked in hard enough that I won't need to, anyway. That's the goal and plan. To devote my time to doing what I really want to do. Now that Mom and Dad are passed over, my time's my own, and I'm really enjoying being a full-time creative, even if the income aspect hasn't fully matured as yet. I have faith that it will. (Actually, unlike during earlier periods of life, I've been unable to muster any doubts whatsoever that this will work out. The lessons of caregiving, watching death closely, and surviving? Perhaps. Certainly my entire perspective has changed, about everything.)
I'm aware, though, I've always been prolific. I have several large bodies of work that are ready to go, whenever I get the chance to market them. Self-marketing is the current hurdle to get over. It's always amusing to me when some dumb reporter (no one here!) asks a now-famous artist about their sudden and overnight success, never asking about the decades it took them to get to the overnight success part. ;) Crossing the threshold of revelation can take only moments, but it can years and years to get to the threshold itself.
Well, that's entirely TMI to answer your question. I'll stand my previous insane laughter, though, because it's also true. If there's one thing I've learned about my fellow creatives, it's that we only seem unbalanced, it's just that making art is the most important there is, next to breathing, and we'll make time for it, no matter what. Like I said, I have a housecleaner in once a week; which really helps, since I really hate cleaning the bathrooms.
Ah, Art, you've been to Hell and back; talk triple-whammy time; I'm glad you returned home to help your mom and dad; but, I had no idea you'd been so ill. If it's any consolation, I have noticed you're becoming more hopeful and energetic in your comments and outlook; and, I really mean it when I say I think you're looking at the best years of your life.
ReplyDeleteThere is some truth to that old saw about changing your attitude, changing your underworld :). No, serially, outlook's nine-tenths of the battle, it seems to me.
But, you hire someone to come around and help you? See, even if I could, I couldn't; not me. I'm such a perfectionist, I think, even if I won the lottery, I'd still be doing it myself (or, as it seems these days, staring it down because nobody else can do it to my standards and, I have actually come to view this as an exercise in Zen mastery: I'm practising the Art of Zen Slobbery, of just never disturbing them dust motes because, you know, they have rights, too, eh? LOL).
Well, I have a frost-free refrigerator and self-cleaning oven; and, that doesn't make it any easier. That oven has never done a day's work in its life; and, since I don't read manuals, I have no idea how to command it to get to work and prolly will never learn to do so, either.
FWIW, I don't think it's TMI. I think it's intriguing that you've travelled such a rough road (and, I read about the desert trip on your blog and losing your camper); and, still, you're hopeful and growing ever stronger (or, do I mean more convinced you've chosen to yield to the path your life's work's chosen for you, anyway)?
That gives me hope it's not gonna be hopeless forever for me :). I always think of Eliot experiencing Aboulia, a kind of exhaustion that haunted him throughout his adult life; he really was neurasthaenic (sp?); and, still, he wrote the greatest poems of the twentieth century.
This too shall pass, and we shall pass with it; one way or t'other; but, it's encouraging to me to hear that nobody I know in RL or online's managed to find a good way to manage it all.
It may be larger than all of us, in fact; and, a prerequisite for existing (at all) in the twenty-first century. I do try to remind myself that 86% of the world's population is far worse off than I shall ever be; and, that's useful; it *is* a kind of luxury to be wondering about work-life balance after reading Zola, say (or Dickens) or, even, The City of Joy.
Hell, reading the headlines makes me remember to count the horseshoes on my arse; but, that's another reason I don't own a TV; it's such a time-waster; still, somehow, I think I just traded drugs (and McLuhan does consider TV a drug).
Online existence is simply another form of same, I guess; but, it's inescapable; I work online; I can't just turn off the machine and walk away (despite the fact I've banned just about every other gadget from my life in order to streamline it).
TMI? Nah, I don't think so; I think there's a kind of online circle, a loosely connected community that provides many of us with a sense of safety, security, and surety; and, at some atomic level, it's a process, a journey, a voyage of discovery, bit by byte, I guess.
Also, as I've said, we do learn each other from the inside-out; and, so, it's inevitable our personalities and proclivities enter these discussions; otherwise, what's the point? It is a kind of trust, too; and, that, My Friend, makes all of it worth it, especially after forty, at least IMO.
Otherwise, we're simply info-gathering bots reduced to pixels and none of this affects us nor allows us to have been affected, if you get my drift.
I think, knowing you're a part of this world's -- our world -- infinitely comforting; however, first thing you're going to do the moment you're a hunnert percent? You're coming to clean my house (that is, if it hasn't imploded from neglect). J/kiddin' . . .
I'm not kidding, though, when I say I say I hope you're up to your former energy levels in time for the GR-8 Summit in 2010. (And, I'm especially not kidding because, knowing that I'm hosting it, well, that's prolly the only thing that's gonna get me to actually consider getting my home back to its pristine stripped-down clean, organised, and lean machine it's been for fifty-odd years.)
See. I think I've earned it; and, someday soon, I'll look back on this downtime, laugh nervously, and change the subject :).
I guess, to rephrase, it's not that we're unbalanced, is that our priorities are non-cultural-mainstream.
ReplyDeleteI also think it's about sacrifice. Sacrifice is a very unfashionable, very suspect word in these post-Me Generation days dominated by infantile self-obsession masked, at least in critical theory, by ironic distancing. Well, folks, the irony is wearing thin, after too many years of postmodernism, and has become itself a rote response. So, we can use the word sacrifice again: I think a lot of artists have learned that they have to make sacrifices to nurture their artistic babies (as well as their real ones). Lots of us ignore fashion, and don't get out to the coolest parties, in order to keep feeding the muses. (Breastfeeding the muse is an image that works even for men, because the heart lies in the breast, and that's really what the muses devour, then regurgitate, covered in gold. I'm just full of gruesome images this morning, aren't I.)
Since you don't think it's TMI, I'll get past my own squirm factor, to come out further and say that the illness I was diagnosed with, since we're being gruesome, is ulcerative colitis. Fortunately, it's manageable, it's curable if necessary (unlike some others), my case was not the worst, and the goal I share with my doctors is to manage it so well that I can basically forget about it. Working towards that.
As for hiring someone to clean for me, well, I freely admit that I'm a Recovering Perfectionist. :) (My Mom was a major perfectionist, and the Alzheimer's made that harder for the rest of us to cope with, as she could obsess about but not actually accomplish any organizing. Very hard for my Dad to live with that, towards the end.) I have two ways out of perfectionism: 1. the philosophy of natural imperfection as pursued in the concept of wabi-sabi in Japanese (Zen-influenced) aesthetics; 2. chaos theory and fractals. The universe really is perfect, it's just full of chaotic boundaries.
When I'm feeling strong enough, perhaps never, :) I could indeed come to your place and clean it up for you. The price is that you'd have to abide by my organizational choices. *evil laughter* Your homework, to start the process, would be to find and read John Pawson's book Minimum, which expresses a philosophy I am ever more drawn to. Not to say that I'm not a dedicated Stuffologist, I do have a full basement after all, but the aesthetic is a goal to strive after.
Eliot was neuraesthenic, I agree. But I alos think he suffered from acedia, the dryness of the soul that is akin to depression. In Medieval times acedia was "the noonday demon," which is also the title of the best book I've ever read on the topic, by Andrew Solomon. I cringed when I read that book, as it came too close to the bone, but it's a genuine atlas of the territory, and I found something of myself in there; something I chose to battle against rather than give into. My desert time was a dark night of the soul in its own rite; a rite of acedia passage; I learned from that, deeply, about where I'm vulnerable, and what I need to watch out for. to keep the demon from the door.
Judith, you inspire me to kick this into writing, darn it. Here I was thinking I'd have a nice pleasant slow day and now I'm at white heat again. All your fault.
TV is a serious drug, McLuhan was right again. If there's a TV on in the room, I feel compelled to give it my attention. So I usually leave it turned off except for watching the occasional movie or documentary. I always leave it off when working. I've found lately, though, and this surprised me, that I can put on a concert DVD, yesterday was Johnny Cash at Montreux, and the boob tube doesn't eat my attention so much; maybe the music-listening overrides the compulsion to watch, maybe it's like radio-with-pictures then.
The internet can be like the same sort of drug. But working online, and at the computer, even if I'm not paying attention to the Internet at the moment, it's there. My laptop is an artistic tool, not just an email or Web station. My other computers also can see the net, but they too are dedicated artistic workstations. So while the Net's always there, I can often ignore it when working. But it's probably inescapable, just as you say.
So say we all. All us pixel-pushing robot slaves. Well, Merry Xmas from Chiron Beta-Prime.
That's the problem, Art: How can someone such as yours truly, an avowed minimalist in design and colour both, cope with the endless onslaught the outside world literally dumps on our doorsteps?
ReplyDeleteI keep waiting for the paperless society; and, all I'm seeing? Mountains, mountains, and more mountains of the stuff, more than ever each passing year. I wonder how our utilities, e.g., complain about not reaching profit projections while using our moolah to tell us about energy-saving tips in four-colour flyers.
(But one of my bug-a-bawlings. Another? Hewlett-Packard's ink-cartridge packaging, for random example. That's why the printers cost next-to-nada while the cartridges require you sell your soul, almost, to print anything. Men's razors? Same thing, a wasteful wasteful profitable marketing sting.)
Excellent to know you've found a way to control your UC; had a friend in high school who suffered terribly from it; visited him in hospital during uni; and, he was so frail and thin that later, when I read (and proofed) some of the cross-country headlines about him, was stun-one undone for months: He had returned home, taken an axe and hacked his wife, child, and himself to death to put them all out of his misery (which may explain why I recall the affliction's agony so freshly and, most likely, always will).
Have another dear friend (who's also a fine poet and grandpa now, with Crohn's). Don't wish these things on anyone, truly; chronic pain's unbearable after a certain point. Poor guy, though; he spends so much time in hospital, he's got his own private room at-the-ready . . . Faith, though; he possesses amazing faith and strength. Also, compassionate (and a lover of Merton to the point he makes the trek every summer to MertonLand in the States, in Indiana? Ohio? I forget, sorry.)
All this info? By way of saying, simply, good for you that you are willing to accommodate and control it rather than allowing it to dominate and destroy you. My friend with Crohn's feels likewise; he works around it, I guess, as he can write, beautifully, despite everything; and, he does write.
When I was a prof, I had a Zen office, no books whatsoever; I cannot work outside the home, though so, my office was really for social events (and, for the first year, I had a lot empty bottles lining the shelves, most Scotch; but, occasionally, champagne). Thought one kind of spirit equalled another :).
I happily accept full responsiblility and agree, yep, 'tis my fault. We all endure that dark night of the soul and, bottom line? You learn to shape your world rather than allowing it to shape you; that's where discipline enters the question and, for that trait, it is a blessing in disguise I grew up very Catholic. I didn't want to be a nun, though; I wanted to be the Pope (or nuthin' :)). I think, in an almost unsayable way, we are exactly where we need to be at all times and, concurrently, we have no control over a thing. We nurture and cherish the illusion we do; but, there are forces far greater than me or you at work, always and, if your Bible issues from Pawson, mine's most likely A Course in Miracles; but, these are personal choices and, of necessity, must always be (in order to prove one's onw authenticity).
Thing is, the world doesn't exist except as a construct we hold in our minds since, IMO, we only see the past and, again, if I learned anything from McLuhan, it is this: Your enemies are you best promoters and, hand-in-hand with that? Most enemies exist because of fear or projection. I don't have any enemies; they may have me; but, I don't spend time thinking about what went wrong; I think that comes with age; I prefer to focus on what's going right. Either that or I, too, would have to completely yield to the orders and disorders of others and, this, unfortunately, I cannot do.
Just riffing . . . nobody's forcing anyone to read anything here, though, right? That's the thing I always find amusing, the thing that makes me smile. Some whiner will say, Why do you go on so long and, I can only marvel they've taken the time to read to the end of how long I've gone :).
Nobody holds a gun to anyone's head; and, Mark Vernon makes a valid point in an area where I think I am improving: Disembodiment (as McLuhan originally said) works both ways; and, I try always to take the high ground and don't for one moment think of the individual with whom I'm communicating as anyone less as a human being being human through their fingers. It is a kind of blindness, meeting others in this environment. And, it does have its pit- and pratfalls. I know I have cybermiles to go in that direction; but, I think, all things being unequal, the one lesson I've learned in terms of all this cyberstuff is tolerance (although, occasionally, I fail; but, that's just an opportunity in disguise).
And, finally, sacrifice? I wrote four books on the thing: The Adagios Quartet; and, if there's one thing I've learned from the decade it took to create that series of works, sacrifice is queen to the king of discipline.
I used to believe one becomes either predator or prey; now, I think the best way is to remain neither. And, that way, you miss the diss to vacuum up the bliss.
So, don't forget to bring your Hoover when you come to the GR-8 Summit, eh? Otherwise, you'll have to spring for a new one and, then, of course, how do you explain *that* to customs when you go home?
p.s. Shall be gone till Monday . . . so . . . that's why :)
Do I have live-in help? No.
ReplyDeleteWell, Maxine, I guess we can dream or something, eh? In a way, I'm glad to hear this (since it's a consolation for me; but, in another way, if you could use it, I can't think of anyone more deserving of it [besides me :)].)
ReplyDeleteBottom line? Your accomplishments just look all the more impressive to me. I don't know how you manage to do all you do and still, sound so sane and together. You shall be my example; I'll just think, Well, Maxine could prolly change the battery in her truck; so, dagsparkit, I can, too! I'll keep you in the loop, natch; we'll connect when I've accomplished this one. (Yeah, I do know you can't put the old one on a concrete floor; and, no, I won't do the wrong thing; I'll wait for a local hazardous-waste day and take my chances.)
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ReplyDelete