More often than not, my writing day consists of a writing hour.
Or less. And that's on the off chance I've got the spare time to sit and write. More often than not, my writing "ritual" consists of typing lines of a poem in my phone's notes app as they come to me, or trying my darnedest to remember the ones that came to mind while I was in the shower.
But, every so often, I'll find (or, perhaps more aptly, make) those few precious minutes just to write. I have no submissions deadlines looming over me, I'm ahead on my bills, and, for once, no one's waiting to hear back from me in an email.
Even more unconventional—or, perhaps more common, though less romantic an image—I don't have a writing desk, but a lap desk and a small section of shelf at the foot of my bed for books and paperwork. I run my press, my lit mag, my various jobs, and my own writing all from bed—or maybe the couch, if I'm feeling adventurous. I know, I know, I'd sleep better if I made my bed for sleeping and sleeping alone.... Chronic illness will make you do the darnedest things, like spend half your life stuck in bed.
That being said, my day naturally starts in bed—the rest of my family has left the house by 8:30 at the latest, which is about when I'll venture out into the house.
Before anything else, I grab coffee. If nothing else gets done in my day, I grab coffee.
On a good day, I'll start off with my "day job," transcribing video and audio for a good chunk of the day. Once I've made about $30 for the day (I'm working on finding something that pays more than just the basic bills!), I'm free to work on my other bits: this is the time where I'll write my latest blog post or book review, answer emails, review Nightingale & Sparrow submissions, send out submissions of my own, check in with my various teams, work on or search for freelance gigs, etc.
Some days, my "day job" goes well into the night. Sometimes those other tasks last well past the time I'd like to go to sleep.
But sometimes, if I'm extra productive, have successfully avoided a flare, and have gotten through my to-do list, I'll just sit and write.
More often than not, this will consist of my pulling out my phone and reviewing the bits and pieces and occasional full drafts of poems I've got saved in my notes. I'll usually transfer them to the cloud on my computer, editing and adding to them as I go. I'll add the finished products to my overly-detailed spreadsheet and mark any submissions or works in progress I've got in mind for the piece at hand.
Eventually, I'll check notifications and my inbox one last time and let myself go to sleep...before waking up to do it all over again.
Juliette Sebock is a Best of the Net-nominated poet and writer and the author of Mistakes Were Made, Micro, Boleyn, and How My Cat Saved My Life and Other Poems, with work forthcoming or appearing in a wide variety of publications. She is the founding editor of Nightingale & Sparrow, runs a lifestyle blog, For the Sake of Good Taste, and is a regular contributor with Marías at Sampaguitas, Royal Rose, Memoir Mixtapes, and The Poetry Question. When she isn't writing (and sometimes when she is), she can be found with a cup of coffee and her cat, Fitz. Juliette can be reached on her website, juliettesebock.com, or across social media @juliettesebock.
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