A Day in the Writing Chair

Hannah K. Phillips
Aug 8, 2017 · 8 min read

It’s 1:20 PM. I know I have to get my butt in my office chair at 1:30 PM because 1:30 PM is writing time; so I scramble to make a snack, wipe down the kitchen counter, put away a few dishes, and angrily spray some insecticide on the beetles that are invading my favorite flower arrangement on the front patio.

1:34 PM. I let out a tremendous sigh as I trudge down the hallway to my office and sit at my desk. I pull out my planner and check my goal status for the week, even though I already know exactly how many words I’ve written, and especially how many I still need to write.

Inhaling deeply, I hit the “record” button on my activity tracking app for the “Write” task.

I open my Scrivener project.

Oh, I don’t want to do this at all.

I start reading through what I wrote yesterday, and every word is absolute garbage. This makes me think of my high school history/government teacher Mr. Hitchcock who used to stamp our blue book essays with a “GARBAGE” stamp in red ink, when appropriate. He pronounced it “gar-BAHJ,” like it was French. Mr. Hitchcock is my favorite teacher to this day; I was energized by the challenges he presented us with, as if he actually thought we were capable of intelligent thought. As a result, I respected his opinions, advice, and criticism.

I’m relieved that he isn’t here to read my Scrivener project right now.

I don’t want to edit yesterday’s work, mostly because I don’t know how to make it any less terrible — the horror of the writing is too monumental, a terminal sickness. Regardless, I go ahead and edit a bit, adding descriptive words and removing unnecessary filler, but mostly I hurry through these edits and just try to focus on writing new words. Extend the draft, and make an effort to hit my goal for the week.

The process feels overwhelming and vexing, like suddenly I’ve been asked to perform brain surgery on an invisible insect the size of a chia seed.

My god. I have no idea what to write, and therefore have nothing to say. I groan, and then make myself think about the little 1"x1" picture frame that Anne Lamott describes in Bird by Bird. “Small assignments and shitty first drafts,” I tell myself.

Mindlessly, I write a little. It feels sterile and unreadable, but the words are something, I suppose. I can edit them later when I feel better about editing. That day is not today.

I get to a certain point in my draft, and I’m stumped; I don’t know how to believably kill this character in an accident. He needs to die immediately — this is the inciting incident, the moment that propels the story forward. As I consider a few options, I can’t believe I haven’t considered the believability of his accidental death until this moment, and scold myself for being such a useless outliner.

After mulling over a few options and coming up blank, I jump over to the Ninja Writers group on Facebook and ask the community for good accidental death injuries.

It’s going to take a while for people to respond, and it would be easier to read multiple responses at once, of course. So while I’m waiting — because obviously I can’t move on without this feedback — I open another browser tab and check my email. There isn’t anything new in the Primary tab, so I check my Newsletters label for a free birthday cupcake coupon. Yes, there it is, right on schedule. I plan to get my free birthday month cupcake with my husband this weekend — he also probably got a birthday cupcake coupon, so we can get two free cupcakes. I feel like I’ve won the lottery.

The cupcake revelation makes me wonder if there are other internet deals I should be considering, in the name of saving money, of course.

Google search: “Online freebies.” The first website that pops up looks suspicious.

Google search: “Reviews for online freebie websites.” Ah ha! The first website is definitely shady. I wonder why Google isn’t smart enough to not put the shady websites first in their results list, when reviews — run through Google — make it crystal clear that a given site is a scam.

Google is disappointing.

Google search: “Legitimate website for online freebies.” After a moment, I find a clear winner, a goldmine of opportunity. The freebies section is massive, but nothing catches my eye or feels remotely relevant.

That’s disappointing. The sweepstakes tab sounds much more promising.

NOW. WE’RE. TALKING.

I try to enter a sweepstakes for a free vacation to Hawaii, but I have to register with the website first. So I fill out the form, check my email for verification, and confirm my registration. Then I proceed to enter 12 consecutive sweepstakes, mostly for vacations, but also for a Yeti cooler, cash prizes, and free Welch fruit snacks.

One sweepstakes entry has inexplicably caused me to be signed up for a year’s subscription of Good Housekeeping magazines, according to an email. I stare at the email, feeling violated, then check out some other items in my email that have come in during my sweepstakes entry marathon.

Sauce Magazine tells me that Ian Froeb released an article about the best sandwich shop in St. Louis this year, and I read the article even though my diet probably won’t allow for 80–90% of the menu items.

Disappointed with the meat-centric restaurant discovery, I go back to the freebie website and enter 3–4 additional sweepstakes. These are mostly the ones I felt ‘meh’ about originally, but now that I’ve entered most of the legitimately fun-sounding ones, what the hell. Free is free.

I’ve exhausted the sweepstakes list, and consider snacking.

Google search: How do I know if I’m actually hungry? I read a few articles. One particularly interesting article explains the distinction between ‘hunger’ and ‘appetite’ that I’ve never considered before. One is biological, one is psychological. Immediately, I’m horrified by my own eating habits, startled to identify that I have been completely appetite-centric in my eating choices. I decide not to snack, though it pains me to admit that the decision is logical and good.

After a moment of indecisiveness, I check LinkedIn for new jobs. I don’t actually need a job, but a friend of mine really needs a new job. I run the search daily, looking for new listings within the past 24 hours. I find a couple of ‘maybes’, and send the links over to my friend via email. There are three listings today that are relevant, and this feels like a small victory.

While I’m at it, I check another job listing site, even though it’s extremely unlikely to capture anything relevant to my friend’s job search. After all, this website is only for non-profit opportunities, and my friend is firmly housed in the corporate world. “You never know,” I tell myself.

Unsurprisingly, I find nothing on this website to send to my friend.

I realize I’m breathing hard because I’m panicking over my own inability to sit down and type up a fictional story. It’s not rocket science; I should be able to sit down and write a damn story. Should I even be a writer if I can’t get myself to sit down and type up words? Isn’t it a qualifier for being a writer, that I write something, and perhaps even enjoy the process, or feel some sense of pride or achivement?

Google search: Marconi Union — Weightless. I listen to the science-backed anxiety-reducing track and shut my eyes, channeling some yogi breathing and pretending that I know what I’m doing. I try to feel zen. Then I realize that I don’t fully understand the concept of zen, and just try to breath like a calm, normal person instead.

The Ninja Writers have come through, as always, so I read their comments and pick one particularly believable accidental death.

I kill a character, which feels weirdly satisfying.

Now that he’s dead, I have no idea how my surviving characters will respond. One will be numb, obviously, so I write her that way. Paragraphs later I’m certain I made the wrong decision, and try to get inside her head again, determined to unearth the reality of her true nature.

Google search: The Wood Shack — Saint Louis. I look at the menu of that sandwich shop Ian Froeb mentioned, just to be sure that I wouldn’t actually be able to eat anything there. There are 2–3 items that I could eat, so I add it to my list of restaurants to try in the future. It’s a list that I keep in an app on my phone, and it’s a mile long.

As I’m looking at that list of restaurants, I see the name of a different restaurant in Maplewood I’ve been wanting to try.

Google search: The Living Room — Maplewood. I peruse the menu, satisfied with my decision to look at it. Yes, this restaurant is totally diet-friendly. With interest, I read through each menu item, even though I know I won’t be visiting the restaurant in the next week or two.

Just in case, I click over to my email tab and double check my Google calendar. Yes, I was right. There likely will not be a time to visit that restaurant in the next week or two. Oh well — it’s on the list.

Etsy search: Wonder Woman. Why would I not want to purchase Wonder Woman stuff? I browse a little, then realize how unnecessary any purchases would be. After all, we just bought a house, and are trying to operate on a fairly tight budget. It wouldn’t be responsible to buy anything I’ve found.

But would channeling Wonder Woman in my work be so bad? One might even call this a productive, motivational choice! I saw the movie three times in theaters and cried every time; even thinking about the No Man’s Land scene makes me tear up in front of my iMac. Surely a little Wonder Woman reminder would make me feel more empowered as a writer.

The Etsy listings inspire me to imagine how I would look in a Wonder Woman costume; I decide I would look absolutely incredible. Why have I never considered this before? At long last, I’ve found my Treat Yo Self item, and feel a fierce camaraderie with Ben from Parks and Rec. With delight, I decide that I will buy a cosplay Wonder Woman costume some day, when my books become best sellers, followed by surprisingly accurate film adaptations.

Oh right. My book.

So… cosplay purchases probably won’t be happening. That’s okay. It’s not like I would have many reasons to walk around in a Wonder Woman costume, anyway.

Petulant, I give up all hope of writing and decide to watch the highlight video from my wedding instead, because it always makes my heart soar.

I stop the task recorder on my phone, and check my word count in Scrivener. At some point, I’ve managed to write a little over 1,000 words, but it doesn’t feel like it. It feels like I wrote -10,000 words, as if a little gremlin snuck into my computer and started deleting my work, cackling with glee while I farted around on the internet mindlessly.

Sighing, I fill in a pitifully small portion of the progress bar in my planner.

Tomorrow is another day.

Hannah K. Phillips

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