Writing, the Gift of Time and O’Henry
By Jael McHenry | December 3, 2018 |
image by sakaki0214
One of the best gifts you can give yourself as a writer is time.
Time is a scarce commodity for many of us. Anyone with obligations to meet beyond writing — school, work, family, a near-countless litany of other responsibilities — knows that every minute spent writing is a trade-off. Time spent writing is time not spent doing one of these other things.
As we enter the holiday season, time to write may be even harder to come by than it already is. Nothing eats up a day like a cross-country flight to Grandma’s house, and if you’ve ever managed to make meaningful progress on a novel on an airplane while in the company of young children, you are my new personal hero.
So as I considered a potential list of gifts that writers might want to give themselves for the holidays, everything on the list came down to a single item: time.
Except here’s the trick of it: sometimes, the gift you need is time spent writing; sometimes, the gift is time spent not writing.
In a way, it’s like the O’Henry story, “The Gift of the Magi.” In the story, each of the spouses parts with what they value most in order to get a gift for the other spouse that complements what the other person values most. In the writer/time version, the irony is that you’re giving yourself a gift which is explicitly not the other gift–time writing is time spent not doing something else, remember–but that what you need might be one or the other, depending on the day. You’re giving up Tuesday what you most want on Wednesday; and both days, you’re happy. (You’re also a little sad because you’re not getting the other thing.)
Especially for those of us who are primary caregivers to young kids, time spent out of the kids’ company can be a direct gift, provided by a family member or friend or paid for by one of those people and provided by a third party. Or it can be a gift to ourselves–giving ourselves permission to step away and do something ultimately selfish. (Even for those of us who make part of our living writing, writing can feel like a selfish act. For those whose writing is the primary source of income for their family, I assume this trade-off is easier to make, but I’m not in that situation personally.)
It’s equally important to give ourselves permission, some days, not to write. For every List of Writer’s Rules that insists you’re not a “real” writer if you don’t write every single day, there’s a chorus of more practical people who will tell you that writing is an ebb and flow. Especially coming off NaNoWriMo, where many of us were charging hard to produce pages no matter what, the act of not writing, too, can feel selfish. But if this week’s Sunday afternoon writing block needs to be spent picking out a Christmas tree with your kids instead, that’s okay. There are things you may need right now more than an hour of writing. An hour of sleep, for one thing. An hour spent wrapping gifts. An hour spent in a bubble bath with a glass of sauvignon blanc. Any of these things is fine. Better than fine. On any given day, for any given writer, they might be utterly necessary.
How do you know when the writing time is a gift and when the not-writing time is a gift? There are no hard and fast rules. My only rule personally is to be generous with myself the way I would be with someone else. Would I urge my spouse to do another hour of work before bed? (I might; it depends on the day and the deadline.) Would I tell my best friend it’s irresponsible to spend an hour of babysitter time on Saturday getting a pedicure? (I would not; also I would probably suggest she make the appointment at a time I could join her.)
Q: Do you give yourself writing time as a gift? Do you also give yourself guilt-free time away from writing?
Jael McHenry is the debut author of The Kitchen Daughter (Simon & Schuster/Gallery Books, April 12, 2011). Her work has appeared in publications such as the North American Review, Indiana Review, and the Graduate Review at American University, where she earned her MFA in Creative Writing. You can read more about Jael and her book at jaelmchenry.com or follow her on Twitter at @jaelmchenry.
This post was just what I needed today–thank you! I already feel guilty cramming in writing time wherever I can, and the holidays just make that worse. Thank you for the reminder to be generous with myself and to value time spent not writing without feeling like I’m not a “real” writer.
I do make significant progress on my fiction on airplanes. I love airports, too. In the crowd, nobody bothers me. The frequent flyer lounges have free coffee and copious charger stations.
The food isn’t great, but hey. That’s not why I’m there. It’s not the important thing. The important thing is time. Pre-boarding time is still time. The best time. Free time. My time. Writing time.
Now, writing while tending to small kids…that I haven’t cracked. My kids are a little older now, though, more interested in whatever is on their iPads than in bothering me. My son’s hockey practices are before sunrise, which is painful but heck. That too is time. Starbucks is open.
Holidays are challenging, certainly, but every Christmas my wish list consists of these: books and time. I get hand-drawn coupons from my kids and tolerance from my wife. After all, the holidays are about remembering what is important. Family. Thankfulness. Giving. Writing.
Happy Holidays, Jael. Thanks for the gift of reading your post today.
We’re in the throes of moving from New Jersey to California, and this has been going on since before May, and we still have to move from our temporary apartment in the retirement community we joined, to a permanent one for which we haven’t even finished picking out color choices.
It will be a year, most likely, between the decision and the final move, and I have managed very sporadic erratic writing bits – as all my energy was needed elsewhere most of the time.
It has been very difficult bearing with the disruption, as I’m in the middle of the middle book of a mainstream trilogy, and it seems every time I restart, I have to find and reload all the connections in characters and plot, and it’s almost not worth the effort.
But we had no choice: home in NJ had become untenable.
I am so glad I had already finished and published the first volume before – I know I can do it, the characters keep gently nudging me, and we must be over the worst! My sense of my writing is delayed rather than doubted.
I take the few days when nothing must be done this very instant – and block the internet and get to work. It is my first priority – after food and shelter. And try not to worry – I have no guilt, but a lot of pent-up desire. I think that’s a good thing.