by Janis Patterson

Back years ago when I still worked in the corporate world I had a little placard on my desk. It had a cute cartoon drawing and the legend, “When you are up to your *ss in alligators, it is hard to remember that you were sent to drain the swamp.”

I’ve never forgotten that saying, though – wish I still had the little placard, but some stinking low-life stole it. The premise has stayed with me all these years, though and as my writing career has progressed, however, has become even more true.

Now those of you who have read my many blogs over the years know how strong I come down on the side of professionalism. Published or unpublished, hobby writer or NYT bestseller, if you’re a writer you have to realize – and act – like a professional. That means consistency, dedication and good behavior, i.e., delivering a product contractually promised on time and in good condition, and working well with your editors et al. And for most of us, some hobby writers excepted, that means discipline. You have X number of words to produce and Y amount of time to do it, which means a fairly demanding schedule.

Now I’m going to be contradictory, because I will admit that schedules are fragile things subject to the alarums and buffeting winds of life. Everyone has their own idea of a schedule – some do 1,000 or 2,500 words per day without fail, some work for X amount of time per day – whatever works for them. At least, we try. Unfortunately Life has a mind of its own – which means we do not have to be a slave to an unbending timeline. (Those of us not on a hard deadline, that is.)
A dear friend of mine, an NYT bestseller, had a large multi-generational family and a demanding job. Far too many times her writing had to take a remote third-place in her life and she fell further and further behind in her work. Finally she said “Enough!” and determined that she would write 30 minutes per day without fail. She said no matter how busy life was, she could scrape together 30 minutes. And she did – without fail. I remember her sitting on a gurney in the ER after a leg injury, scribbling away in the notebook she always had with her. Even as well as I knew her I was astonished at her dedication.

The older I get the more I believe that Life is more important than a rigid schedule. What do you do when someone dear to you dies, or a child is ill, or there is a horrible incident requiring your attention – a house fire, an accident or some other trauma? It would take a stronger person than I to ignore it completely just to meet my schedule. That does not, of course, include bridge games or luncheons or other basically frivolous pastimes. Then there are children – or grandchildren. They are young for such a fleeting time – don’t shut them out. And for those of you fortunate enough to still have your parents they must be considered too. There is more to life than writing, no matter how dedicated a writer you are. You can always do your ‘thirty minutes a day’ or whatever after they are asleep.

See? I told you I was being contradictory. We need discipline if we are going to have a career in writing, but we also need to be human. Choose your distractions and exemptions wisely – if you have a choice. Just remember anything can be an alligator!

A lot of people think Ernest Hemingway wrote that. He didn’t. It is often attributed to him, but this brilliant writer wouldn’t have done anything as self-destructive as being smashed out of his gourd when writing, at least not long-term. For Whom the Bell Tolls does not refer to last call at your local pub.

It isn’t that Hemingway didn’t imbibe. One of my favorite cocktails is named the Hemingway Daiquiri. And it’s quite nummy. Hemingway was a man who prided himself on being a man’s man. He drove an ambulance in the middle of a war.  He was a big game hunter. He got into brawls. He was a womanizer. He drank, yessiree Bob. Hemingway was a man of the 20^th Century. But he also liked cats, so in my opinion, he had a few redeeming 21st-century qualities. I’m with Mark Twain on this thought: “If man could be crossed with the cat it would improve man, but it would deteriorate the cat.”

But back to writers boozing it up while on duty. I don’t think so, colorful as it sounds. When I’m writing, I’m trying to find words to form into sentences. It becomes very basic. Most of the time, they don’t even have to be pretty words. They just have to make sense. This is something I can barely do while slurping down my morning latte, much less a martini. I strain my brain to try to come up with the word for that latch thingy-hooky that’s at the top of a whatchamacallit to keep, you know, the lid on. Or the name of who’s-a-biddy, the assistant front desk manager in Chapter Six. You know, the one with the long, dark hair.

So if Hemingway didn’t say the quote, “write drunk, edit sober,” who did? They have no idea. One possibility is humorist Peter De Vries. He wrote a character named Gowan McGland. The character, McGland, gave an interview and said, “Sometimes I write drunk and revise sober, and sometimes I write sober and revise drunk. But you have to have both elements in creation — the Apollonian and the Dionysian, or spontaneity and restraint, emotion and discipline.”

Now doesn’t that sound exactly like what a sober writer would pen of a fictional character while trying to give him color?