11zies – Day in the Writing Life of Lia Habel
Hi, everyone! It’s my turn for (my 11zies) Day in the Writing Life. Join me, won’t you?
In truth, my writing process isn’t very intensive or interesting – it’s probably best referred to as “creating by wandering aimlessly from task to task and around the general vicinity of my house.” I actually make a conscious effort not to take my writing too seriously, because I’m fully aware that I’m not even remotely capable of creating the next Middlemarch. I’m just grateful to have found a little success by recording the results of my rambling subconscious.
Anyway – I’m nocturnal, now, so I wake up around noon. I probably went to bed around three or four a.m. the night before. Anyone who’s watched my videos knows that I never make my bed. (Keep this in mind: it’s important. Well, no, it’s not.)
First stop is: CAFFEINE.
And we do take our caffeine really seriously, around here.
(Zombies + rayguns = my entire life, really.)
And then it’s over to the desk. I thought about cleaning it off, but then I thought, “No. Let them see THE TRUE HORROR of my messy writing environment in all its GLORY,” or something like that. And then I just took a picture ’cause my coffee was done brewing and I like it when it’s still hot enough to burn my gullet.
(Yes, that is a clump of hair over on the side, there. It’s a wig waiting to be washed and styled. Sausage curls FTW.)
My first task, once I’m awake, is to decipher the notes I left myself the night before. I wrote these notes in the dark, while half drugged with insomnia meds, and I can only pray each night that I’ll be coherent enough to understand myself the next morning. I’m a very subconscious writer – my text is constantly in my head, whether or not I’m aware of it – and I find that problems, questions, and additional ideas come to me at the oddest times.
(Amazingly, I actually understood this one right off the bat. It was a one-sentence revision.)
(Lorenzo IS an awesome name.)
(Yes, he is. I will totally be blasting Family Force 5’s Kountry Gentleman during this scene. My burning ambition is to be referred to as, “The Michael Bay of the YA world.”)
(Thanks for the calendar, sleepy-me! This is actually amazingly helpful. Now, can you remind me what “FN” meant? I’m going to assume “fortnight.” Also, “Michael invades Vespertine” is a lot less filthy than it sounds.)
I’ll spend a few hours editing and backwriting, and then start in on new content. Around this time I’ll start feeling icky, so it’s time for more caffeine and maybe a trip outside. This is what normal people do to get inspiration, right? Breath of fresh air?
Eventually I’ll get out of the disgusting sunlight and do a few things that actually inspire me.
(I literally just scooped these off the floor, en masse.)
There’ll also be various stops to go poke the kitties and coo at them, make food, clean something (hahahahahahahahahaha) or actually leave the house for an appointment. Oh, and I can’t really settle in to work until the mail arrives, especially if I’m expecting a package. It’s too much like Christmas.
(Absolutely critical to the creative process.)
I usually stop writing around six or seven p.m., although additional planning/soundtrack binging/organization might go on into the wee hours of the night. And yet, despite all this, I average about 3000 words a day, or 12,000 a week. I’m at 80,000 words in my sequel, now, with about 30,000 to go. I started at the beginning of last month. (This book will actually be shorter than my debut, at least in draft form. Is that not terrifying? This is why I refer to my cyber-Victorian zombie saga as Gone with the Respiration.)
Treating my writing casually, as something that I can begin when I want and come back to whenever I feel like it, really works for me. My documents are constantly open, so I can swing by and change a pesky word while doing other things. This is why I respect the deadline, even though I’m a total procrastinator in every other way. Writing under pressure’s too much like A Real Job, for me, and that shuts my creativity off likethat.
Sorry I’m not more interesting. Next time, I promise I’ll get a photo of me walking away from an explosion in slow-mo, or something.
(Me, in a nutshell.)