Dale T. Phillips

Diary of an At Home Writer

Non-fiction by Dale T. Phillips

6:00- Awake

7:38- Morning ablutions done, kids off to school. Sit down to computer in basement office. Boot up, check email. No news from agent on submitted novel.

7:50- Reread yesterday’s writing, all four paragraphs. Realize yesterday’s writing all worthless, start over.

8:04- Almost getting good third rewrite of first sentence. Comes to a screeching halt when wife, carrying laundry, passes through basement office to son’s finished bedroom. “Just go on, don’t mind me.”

8:09- Back to work, trying to recapture lost thread of thought on sentence restructuring.

8:16- Sentence redone and acceptable for first draft. Second sentence begun.

8:22- Wife calls down reminder of school meeting on following evening.

8:25- Finished with thoughts of divorce, return to sentence #2.

8:37- Marginally acceptable second sentence completed.

8:42- Wife calls down to say she is going to the store- NO, nothing is needed. Except a lack of interruptions.

8:51- Phone rings, making dog bark. NO, do not want to answer poll.

8:55- Bathroom break. Notice home project needing immediate attention. Ignore it for now, as good writer should.

9:01- Back at computer, tackling sentence #3.

9:07- Phone rings, making dog bark. Daughter forgot flute, needed for next period. Take flute to school. Needle on E, yellow light on. Stop for gas.

9:55- Back at computer, tackling sentence #3. Again.

10:01- Sentence three crystallizing in thoughts, shattered by doorbell. Dog going crazy barking. Sign for package.

10:12- Am going to finish sentence #3 if it kills. No matter who it kills.

10:17- Phone rings. Scream gibberish to assistant from dental office reminding of upcoming appointment.

10:20- Calm breathing, return to writing.

10:27- Wife returns, calls down that she’s home. Dog barks again.

10:30- Feeling like Jack Nicholson in The Shining, return to sentence #3.

10:48- On to sentence #4. Wife comes down to pantry for can of soup. Asks about lunch choices.

10:54- Once more into the breach.

11:07- Call from writer friend, asking how writing is going. Venting begins.

11:29- End call, back to writing.

11:44- First paragraph complete.

11:55- Wife calls down that lunch is ready.

12:21- Back at computer, check email. Latest story has been rejected by 18th magazine. Editors recommend buying subscription anyway, as have previous 17.

12:24- In severe pain from having kicked something which turned out to be harder than it looked. Foot may be broken.

12:28- Begin search for next market for rejected story. Cannot let them sit and gather cobwebs.

1:02- New market found, fresh hardcopy printed to specifics, cover letter carefully crafted, mailer addressed, SASE enclosed. On pile on stairs to go to Post Office.

1:05- Bathroom break.

1:10- Tackling second paragraph.

1:22- Wife down for stamps. Dinner options reviewed.

1:31- Back into second paragraph, third sentence.

1:40- Dog coughs, throws up. On pile for Post Office.

2:05- Mess cleaned up, new submission packet ready. Carefully placed away from surface dog can reach.

2:08- Back to writing. Thread of passage lost.

2:14- Yawning uncontrollably, unable to stay awake. Jump on exercise bike for half hour. Of course, no interruptions occur at this time. Plot line worked out in head.

2:47- Upstairs to shower. More story developments come to mind.

3:03- Back at computer, fingers flying.

3:05- Kids home from school. Son needs computer for school essay due tomorrow.

3:12- In upstairs bathroom with yellow legal pad and tiny unsharpened golf-course pencil, scribbling hurriedly as beautifully thought-out prose dissolves like Coleridge’s Xanadu dream.

3:26- Knock on door, son says dog is coughing again. Offer to shoot *%#@ dog.

3:28- Wife knocks, asks if anything wrong. Spew more obscenities, but quietly.

3:40- Daughter knocks on door, asks for help with math homework. Sit with her to discover you remember nothing of Venn diagrams and null sets.

4:02- Back in bathroom. Slow but constant drip from faucet is like water torture.

4:14- Pencil breaks, unable to sharpen. Wife's leg razor ruined. Wonder if blood will suffice for ink.

4:27- Frantic search for usable writing implement yields dog-chewed pen under bed, which sometimes works okay if you shake it and press down hard enough to tear paper.

4:44- Daughter knocks, asks meaning of ‘obtrusion’.

5:07- One crumpled, torn, illegible sheet of prose completed.

5:15- Son knocks on door with reminder of basketball practice after dinner.

5:23- Wife calls for dinner.

5:55- Drive son to basketball practice.

6:09- With new pen, begin writing while sitting in bleacher at school gym.

6:13- Other parent asks, “Whatcha writin?”

6:14- Other parent shocked at response, moves off to finds new seat.

6:21- Loose ball knocks pen, pad from hands. Pen rolls under bleachers.

6:23- Cackling like crazy cat lady, produce backup pen.

6:24- Backup pen out of ink. Begin sobbing.

6:25- More parents move away.

7:00- Practice ends, race home, run to computer.

7:04- Feverishly attempting to transcribe hieroglyphs from legal pad. Wonder what ‘see hdvufj’ means.

7:30- Page done. Attempt to print. Printer cartridge out. More sobbing.

7:35- Mail from magazine publisher. Story written seven years ago and submitted nine months previously to be published in upcoming 2012 issue, circulation of 50. Payment of five-dollar bill to be on publication.

7:44- Celebratory bottle of eight-dollar wine opened. Toast made to success.

7:50- Back at computer with wineglass #3.

8:15- Accidentally close document without saving, losing last twenty-five minutes of work.

9:00- Page painfully retyped, as hand now sore from pounding on desk. Completed.

9:05- Gaze once again at acceptance letter from magazine.

10:00- Walk dog, taking in night air.

10:05- Pick up doggie doo, trying not to see metaphor for life.

10:15- Turn in, reflecting on glory of writing life, and one day closer to publishing Great American Novel.