I wish I could say I got up with a champagne breakfast in my suite, looking over the Champs-Elysees. But alas I awoke to: “Kristi wake up you overslept!” I fall out of bed like a drunken monkey, scrambled to get up off the floor. This is how my life is, I thrive on being the comedic sideshow in it.
After I hurriedly run and screamed for my nephew to wake up. Before you ask, I am his homeschool teacher during this pandemic. I do not know what kind of teacher I am; we shall find out five years from now when he graduates from high school. I digress he is late for school. I have a schedule that we follow, the only excuse I have is that it has been two weeks since “school” was in.
Grabbing a gigantic cup of coffee, and a breakfast bar. My mother is the lunch lady in this drama, so she is cooking up eggs for Dawson. I put the plate in front of him with a glass of milk, and he gives me a hateful look. KIDS! How rude of me getting him up late for school (insert eye roll). I am already thinking of a plot twist for my science fiction.
I get him settled with one of my laptops, then pick up the proverbial pen. What am I going to write today, getting the creative juices going takes a moment. I ask myself questions, it’s the answering myself that is worrisome.
1.) I need inspiration, where from? Usually either sitting on the back porch and enjoying the view of the mountains, or painting (loose term for coloring pencils on a piece of paper).
2.) What to work on first? Either my poetry or my science fiction novel.
3.) Getting to work! I start with the sci fi novel today, my poetry takes a certain frame of mind. I can’t describe it better than that. I hope most poets understand what I mean. Our poetry comes from the heart but, our minds work to put those feelings onto paper in a coherent thought.
By five in the afternoon I am bushed, drop out, ready to tap the mat tired. My brain is in total meltdown mode. I am learning along with the kiddo. I hated math in school and doubly now.
I sit outside on the back porch with a hot cup of decaf. Getting another thought for a poem. I pick up the little tablet I keep with me. Then put down the thoughts I have skipping around rent free in my mind.
After a quick meal I get back to my writing. My focus today has been my sci fi. I have 186,000 words distributed into three novels. They are currently undergoing review, and rewrite in places. The bane of a writer’s existence the dreaded “rewrite-review” stage. It must be done. No amount of moaning or crying about it can change that fact.
By eight I put away all my writing tools, deciding to take a break from life. At least for a few minutes I immerse myself in some good old-fashioned television.
Ten comes early enough and I sit down to write some more. Anything, nonsense things, my mind has a poem it wants released so I release it. I end up with a new poem. I must get up early so I lay down and put away all the cares of the day. I decide to listen to a podcast by a friend, Mark Antony Rossi. We learn all our lives some the hard way, listening to Mark is the easy way. Into dreamland I go. My day in writing is not overly exciting, nor glamorous. It usually is chaotic, skating on the side of dull to some, but it is my day, I am happy and satisfied with it.
Kristi Ivey is a former member of the Appalachia East Writers Association, and served as a guest judge for their Quill Award in poetry. She is an award winning poet, children’s, historical romance, and one of her favorite genre’s science fiction writer. Her grandmother’s encouraged her reading and writing. The first novel that she attributes to love of reading is A Wrinkle In Time.