In 1974, Doris Betts was fortyish, a handsome southern woman with dark hair pulled into a pony tail and sparkling eyes. She used a black cigarette holder to dramatic effect. Doris was a real writer—prolific, humane, a wrestler with the big questions. She taught creative writing at Chapel Hill and headed the freshman English program. I was a graduate teaching assistant at the time and was attempting to impart my vast knowledge to freshmen. I was terrible. But I had showed Doris a short story of mine and she’d liked it, so I felt toward her very much like a duckling toward its mother.
One day I went in to tell Doris that I’d be leaving.
“Why would you do that?” she said.
I had been in college since, oh, puberty. At 24, it had finally dawned on me that if I hung around a couple of more years and got my PhD in English, I could look forward to maybe editing copy at Popular Mechanics or teaching business writing in a community college somewhere along that river where they filmed Deliverance.
I had bigger dreams. So I told her this:
“I need more time to write.”
Doris shook her head, her eyes full of motherly understanding. She got up and hugged me.
“Honey,” she said. “There’s never time to write.”
I left school anyway, but of course Doris was utterly, entirely, completely, inarguably correct. Thirty-five years have gone by and I still haven’t had the time to write.
But what I didn’t know—and I think Doris may have known but couldn’t convey to someone so young and feckless as I—was that “time to write” is not measured by the clock or the calendar. I’ve since been married and raised three children to adulthood and had a responsible job or two, but there have always been hours available if I wanted to grab ’em and squeeze ’em. “Time to write” is merely time during which you decide that writing, not something else, is what you’re going to do.
I’ve wondered for a long time whether there isn’t a direct proportional relationship between novels finished and divorces finalized. But in fact, I know that you don’t have to wreck your marriage or neglect your kids to write a book. You might not even need to sleep less. All you have to do is write when you can. You know that other stuff you’re always doing? Write instead.
Here’s what: If you’re going to watch the NCAA Tournament next week, don’t bemoan your lack of time to write. If you’re growing your own tomatoes this year from seed, after hours spent reading catalogues about heirloom varieties, don’t bemoan your lack of time to write. If you’re browsing through the New Yorker or (uh-oh) surfing for online divertissements like 317am.net, don’t bemoan your lack of time to write.
There’s discretionary income—a lot of which, in my case, seems to disappear as if gobbled up by gremlins. And there’s discretionary time—which can pretty much go the same route if you let it. Don’t let it.
Doris knew this, I’m sure: There is always time to write if you’ll just use the hours you’ve got.
So, take that as gospel and get it done. I’m certainly going to. I’ve got this story I’m dying to do. Right after the NCAA Tournament.
Ted the Cat (1994-present) is a domestic shorthair blogger and vers libre poet. He also enjoys sleeping, eating, and lurking. Ted the Cat co-habits with Kaze,
also a blogger at 317am.net.
1. Doris looks like a very lovely/loving and wise woman and
2. I'll drop the NCAA next week, won't grow tomatoes, won't read the New Yorker, won't surf for unimportant things, but I refuse to give up on dropping in here. Yo, man, you can take that as a compliment.
3. I beg, borrow and steal time to write.
4. Why not write that story before the NCAA Tournament?
I always find myself to be a bipolar effort writer. Time has nothing to do with it. When I get the writing feeling, I write in bursts. I can crank out 10k words in two days. Then I run out of steam. It often takes weeks for me to get manic about it again. I wish I could be more level with my writing eneregy, and maybe I've conditioned myself to be this way. I dunno. If I force myself to write each day, it's more laborous, not as good, and takes a lot longer to produce. Isn't it better to write in one's own rythm?
Deborah, you're awfully kind. Someday we're going to expand our capabilities here at 317am and you'll have to post that writing of yours!
Wheels, there's no substitute for rhythm, if you've got it. It's getting into the rhythm that's tough for most of us, which is why you never stop hearing from writers that they've got to sit down and do it, inspired or not, energized or not, every day. I guess it's like running or working out–things I avoid entirely.
I love Doris' work and love her. I lived in Chapel Hill from 1999 to 2005. I joined a book club and I picked Souls Raised from the Dead. From my research, I discovered Doris lived in Chapel Hill (or maybe, Pittsboro, can't remember). I called her up and asked, pretty please, would she come to our book club to chat about her book. Without hestition, she said, "Well, of course!" What a delight she was in discussing her book, her writing life, and life, in general!
I'm not a writer but love to read. So, please start writing — it's so important to readers!
How great, Barbara. That's the Doris I remember. Some years ago I sent her my only novel–my western "Bowhunter"–and she couldn't have been more gracious. If you have her e-mail, would you forward this blog post to her with my best wishes? Thanks for the lovely comment.
On my WordPress blog I posted a lot of my writing (poems and short stories). If you want a copy of my doomed, twice aborted book 'Rachel Sarai's Vineyard' let me know where to send it on:
immas.girl(at)Gmail(dot)com.
That's a wonderful realization. You'll always find a way if really want something done. What about writer's block? What do you think of it? You set aside a time to write, but the muse is just so elusive, so you put your pen down and do that "something else" . And every time you have the time to write, you just can't. When previously you wrote volumes and volumes until your head drops.
Perhaps it is an offshoot of old age? lol.
Time, the all elusive yet ever static thing we blame all of our troubles on. There's never enough of it although the amount of it never changes. Sounds like one of those riddles of the Sphinx. And here I am commenting instead of writing, or is this considered an extension of my writing? =)
I am in the same quandary as Anne above. For the past three hours, I've been searching about writing while the Word doc I opened to start writing a story remains neglected.
And this is not the story of today alone.
To Anne – A lot of truth in this sentence: "And here I am commenting instead of writing, or is this considered an extension of my writing?" When a friend of mine checked out 317am a month or two after Ras and I began, he said, "At last, you and Ras have found a way to avoid writing." I laughed. It is easier to write these posts (or to comment, as you have, on someone else's) than it is to write fiction, but on the other hand, it is writing, and if you're trying to do it right, it feels like writing, it exercises the same muscles, and in the end you get to look at what you've done and say, "Not bad." That's plenty.
Jena – My best solution for writer's block is to spend time in the company of people who like and appreciate you, who make you feel accepted and confident. Go out, have a good time, come back and write. Another is: Don't go to bed till you've written something…it'll give you a strong incentive to get something on paper, the sleepier you get. And sometimes, a kind of delerium will come over you and the writing comes easily. You know, maybe we should start a list of the solutions we've come up with…I may start one here on 317am.
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