May 2025 – Writing Wrongs

The wisdom of weekends

I’ve been experimenting with time management and how I want my days to look like now that I can set my own schedule.

One thing is becoming clear:

There’s wisdom in taking weekends and time off.

Back in January and February, I was writing seven days a week. I was so darn excited to have the time and head space (especially the head space) to write. Book two was simply waiting for the cognitive overload from my corporate job to clear out so I could write.

Then, I needed a break. I know this about myself. I’m what Becca Syme calls a bread machine writer. In her article Why Isn’t This Easier, she writes about bread machines (the writers, not the appliance):

Your brain is wired like a bread machine, so the easier books to work on are the ones where you’ve had more time to put all the ingredients inside the machine and let it sit for a long time. But when you become a professional writer (even if you’re not writing full-time), you don’t get to spend years thinking about a book, unless you’re GRRM. So, when you take away part of the way your brain functions creatively best, it becomes more and more difficult to complete the process.

I need time to think, both long term—hey, I’ve been musing on The Pansy Paradox and the series for a decade, y’all—and short term.

So, maybe it’s an afternoon when I head to the garden center and look at all the plants (I know, I know; I’m running out of space.) Maybe it’s a trip to Half-Price Books to restock the Little Free Library.

In any case, I’m taking a conscious look at my schedule. I’m questioning why I do things when I do them and considering whether there’s a better way for me to do what I want and need to do.

Today? The siren song of the garden center is calling my name. (Can you hear it? I can definitely hear it.) Yesterday was the Guthrie Theater and Agatha Christie’s The Mousetrap.

All in all, not a bad weekend. (And would you look at the Mississippi. We got a lot of rain last week.)

Rainy days and Sundays (never get me down)

So in the past few days, we left behind the false summer and time-traveled back to early spring. It’s rainy and cool and that’s okay because we desperately need the rain around here. Along with the heat, there were wind and fire warnings.

Bring on the rain. (And the writing: it’s a good excuse to stay inside.)

Speaking of rainy days, here’s a view of a couple from Florence:

The Ponte Vecchio is always amazing, even in the rain (and it was raining, hard).

Il Caffe del Verone is on the top floor of the Istituto degli Innocenti. This view, even in the rain. So worth it. Also, the cappuccino didn’t hurt.

Tiny burst of joy

In a week of meetings, appointments, getting my daughter’s car to the shop, there was this:

This tiny burst of joy showed up in less than twenty-four hours after I put out the hummingbird feeder. Not sure they’re nesting yet. However, one did do a hover and hello when I was working in the garden this week.

Speaking of the garden, that’s where I’m headed right now to uncover—or plant—other bursts of joy. So I’m keeping this check-in short today. My writing this week was slow, steady, and positive, although not very flashy.

Four months in: reality check

So, it’s been four months since my last day of work, which is as good a time as any for a reality check.

How’s it going?

When I first started to think about this milestone, I believed I hadn’t done enough. What was “enough”? Oh, I don’t know. How about completely drafting my series, publishing book 1 and the companion novella, not to mention reacquainting myself with Photoshop for covers and images, and …

And that was a totally unrealistic view of things. But it’s the sort of toxic productivity mindset born from: if you’re not hustling and grinding eighteen hours a day, what good are you.

What I actually did:

Finished the draft of book 2
Sketched out the content and structure of book 3
Contemplated another bonus novella
Cleaned out the bedroom closet
Spring cleaned
Planned and took a dream trip to Italy

This doesn’t include what I did this past week: I jumped back into book 1 to refine and edit based on changes from drafting book 2 and the trip to Italy. Also? Add in some bonus gardening.

Then, on Thursday, I learned that my former workplace conducted another layoff two and a half years after the one that set me on the path to burnout and had me quitting.

That previous layoff diminished the department by at least 50%. Mind you, the work did not decrease by that amount. Now? I doubt the work is going away. (Unless they plan to use GenAI, in which case, good luck with that when it starts hallucinating.)

But I wondered, would I have been caught up in the layoff this time around, like (at least) one of my friends was? Or would I’ve been retained and watched my workload quadruple?

Would those extra four months have been worth a severance package?

And I realized, no, they wouldn’t have been. Even with the current economy, which I won’t lie, is making me very nervous for various reasons. I wouldn’t have the draft of book 2. I only started making progress after I quit. I wouldn’t have the structure and content of book 3.

I wouldn’t have taken a dream trip to Italy. Or, if I had managed to, it would have been shorter and constrained by having to check work email on the regular.

I don’t know what the future holds. But in this particular instance?

No regrets.

The sweetness of doing nothing

It probably comes as no surprise that I fell in love not only with Italian coffee but those adorable Bialetti coffeemakers as well.

I was, however, on the fence about buying one; I wasn’t entirely certain I’d have room in my suitcase. But on my last day, I decided to take the chance that I could wedge it into my suitcase and headed for the Bialetti store in Pisa.

As it turns out, when you buy a Bialetti, you get a discount on coffee to go with it. Would signora like some coffee as well? Since the sales clerk had just brewed me a sample of that coffee, who was I to say no? I might as well go all in with the coffee and coffeemaker.

And, as it turns out, yet again, my purchase reached a threshold where I could get a substantial discount on another item. What was this item?

An umbrella. For a mere 3,50 euro.

Did signora want the umbrella as well?

People, people. An umbrella. As some of you know, umbrellas—in particular, sentient umbrellas—play a big role in The Pansy Paradox.

So, yes, signora absolutely wanted the umbrella as well.

My Bialetti coffeemaker and my new (sentient) umbrella.

If it had been anything else? Maybe not. Although the sales clerk clearly had my number at this point, so probably.

So, during my last weekend in Italy, I embraced that Italian motto (as noted on my umbrella): the sweetness of doing nothing.

It was pouring down rain. The following day promised sunshine, and I planned to head for Florence. But right then, Pisa was damp, dank, and dark. So, I did what the Italians do. I honored the afternoon break time. I brewed some fennel tea, curled up, and read for a few hours.