My Favorite Day of the Week

It’s Saturday!

I get to sleep in, be lazy for as long as I want, work on things around the house, spend time with the people I want. Saturday, how I love thee.

For a lot of years, I worked at a grocery store, and I very rarely took Saturdays off. Now that I’m working a job that’s Monday through Friday, and that actually closes for holidays, I never want to go back. I’m horribly spoiled.

I meant to stay up later than I did last night in an attempt to catch up on my word count, but once ten o’clock hit, I was ready for bed. Sometimes I miss the younger me that could stay up practically all night and still function the next morning. The me now feels beat up and sore just sitting on a wooden bench for a couple hours much less staying up staring at a computer screen all hours of the night.

You might wonder why I’ve chosen the wooden bench at the kitchen table. Well every time I try to write on the couch, my dog sits on my lap, the other dog sometimes curls up next to me, which feels great when I’m watching a movie but oddly suffocating when I’m trying to write. If the TV’s going, I’m easily distracted by it, even with music in. I have a desk downstairs, but right now it has my grandma’s computer on it, and this time of year it’s rather cold down there. Plus sometimes I don’t feel like totally separating myself from my family, so while I’m usually ignoring them by putting in my music, I’m still with them physically and that can help. As long as no one’s reading over my shoulder.

It’s impossible for me to write with someone watching the screen, reading along. Especially if it’s someone whose opinion I value. And I can’t ever watch someone read something I’ve asked them to go over. If someone were to read my stuff aloud to a group with me there, I’d cringe to death.

I love it when I get feedback (obviously I prefer when people have liked what I wrote), but I’d much rather read their compliments in a comment online than hear them spoken to my face. And criticism? Even the helpful kind? That’s never easy for me to swallow, try as I might, because while I know it’s a necessary part of growing as a human and a writer, there’s still that over-emotional voice in my head that screams, “They didn’t think it was perfect! You suck!”

I don’t suck and of course it’s not perfect. It never will be perfect. But criticism is something I’m going to have to learn to work with and separate from my emotionally reactive side. I need to send critiques to the logical portion of the brain that says, “Okay, this person said this, and I can see their point, and if I follow their recommendation, I can do this and that will eliminate the problem.” That is so much better than rocking back and forth, lamenting the day I, as foolish child, declared that I wanted to be a writer.

It’s been a long time since I’ve even had work for another person to edit. Before worrying about who’s going to like the book, and who’s going to rip it apart piece by piece and have me redo it, I should probably finish it.

Have a wonderful weekend, everyone!



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