A typical day in the life of a novelist doesn’t sound fancy at all. There’s nothing special in what we do. Rather, we spend so much time alone thinking until our eyes turn white from waiting for us to speak and start moving.
All good writing is swimming under water and holding your breath.” – F. Scott Fitzgerald
A typical day in the life of a novelist.
I’ve come across a lot of articles on Google’s top page telling awesome stories about the normal day of an author. To me, it sounded as if many people are curious about how our day is like.
Are we writing all day?
Do we still have time to party with friends?
Tons of questions.
Even a few of my friends and relatives ask me how I live my daily life as a writer, as a novelist. (I am both because I write for a day job and write my novels at night).
The Morning Ritual Of A Novelist
It’s nothing fancy.
Before I get up to bed, I raise my head from a deep sleep (my face pressed on the pillow all night) and see the sun coming up. Then, I press my face again on the pillow and extend my sleep. Trying to. For around 15 minutes or so.
Around 6 o’clock, I get up from the bed and go to the comfort room to pee. Afterward, I go to the kitchen and make my coffee. Then, I sit on the living room kawayan bench and stare outside to think.
Think, think, and think for around 30 minutes or so.
Once my mind is satisfied with my morning introspection, I take a bath around 6:30 o’clock.
The weird thing is I take a hot shower first while lathing soap and shampoo before I turn to the cold shower until I shiver.
I don’t know but it’s part of my showering routine. I need to feel the cool waters dripping from my head down to my toes while I hug my knees bent for minutes.
Before I end my shower, I turn off the heating machine, then shower. Then, I pour another 3 pails of cold water from the bucket to finish my ritual.
Writing Ritual As A Novelist
I don’t want to sound fancy because I’m not here to brag. I simply describe my daily morning to you. In fact, it does sound a bit boring. Yet, that’s how my life is. *smiles*
You know, my life is isolated and mundane. It’s living an imperfect life with 100% introspection. Less talking, less BS.
It’s an isolated lifestyle. Nobody can understand that I can’t give time to other stuff around people. I need my alone time – most of the time – to think.
I don’t intentionally isolate myself from others just because. It’s my way of life. And I couldn’t do anything about it.
I’m a writer and a novelist for God’s sake. He made me this way. He created me as a human being gifted with words. So, I have to use it for other’s benefit. There’s no way out.
Given, my writing life is kinda 24/7. There’s no break. I write at a constant pace every single day. I write fast in the morning so I make sure I don’t waste a minute of it.
Because I work as a full-time writer for a company today, I start around 7 o’clock to 2 in the afternoon writing loads of articles per day.
Although the stress level kills me, I quite enjoyed the fact I earn a monthly income while I give time to my novels at night. There are also times I write here on my blog (I have to make sure I write here as regular as possible).
Then, I take a break by reading articles online or playing with our puppies to relax. If my sister weren’t around, I do the household chores. But she does it most of the time on my behalf.
Around 8 in the evening, my writing life doesn’t stop there. I write a chapter of either of my two books – my CEO, Billionaire Romance Lies Behind Ties or my CEO, Billionaire Fantasy/ChickLit Titan’s Curse. Both of these books will be on Wattpad next year.
Did I Regret My Choice As A Novelist?
If I continued my dreading life as a full-time teacher, I would be more resentful. It doesn’t mean I quit my career as a teacher because I don’t like it. It’s just there’s more fulfilling element when I write.
I chose the road less taken, which my family doubted at first, and stepped outside my comfort zone. Writing is a tedious work. I’ve repeated that many times.
It’s not an easy feat. It’s hard work. It drains me and my soul. But in the end, I feel the satisfaction I couldn’t get when I worked as a teacher.
Yes, I can teach but not in a traditional classroom setting. I want to teach people what I value and close to my heart rather what the government or any authority wants me to.
I want to help struggling writers with potential and worth-sharing stories. Apparently, they’re stuck in fear and impostor syndrome. Less confident and doubtful of their work.
There are times when I go crazy in a public place with a plot rushing inside my head after I see a woman with colorful clothes pass by. Even when it’s raining cats and dogs, stories come up. I have to grab my phone and record the plot before I forget it the next minute.
In the most boring situations, I am enjoying it. Because within that circumstance, I write a wonderful story to people. A story that fills their dread and fills the gaps of their imperfect realities.
For me, as a novelist, it’s my job to keep that fantasy in their heads, making sure I entertain them with the world I created. The world inside the character’s daily lives.
As a novelist, it requires emotional strength on my part. I don’t know if other authors shared this with you, but whenever we write our stories, it kills us. It’s emotionally draining. We cry in the character’s intense moments and we feel the wrath of the villains we created.
For the sake of telling that story out of obligation (to share our character’s story to the world), we continue writing until our fingers bleed. Until late at night. In the earliest morning.
If you aren’t a reader, you won’t understand this realm. Nor you can’t understand the BS I’m talking about now.
In general, my isolation doesn’t mean I’m sad.
Months ago, I was more frustrated with being unimportant to someone. I want to be of help to others. That gives me purpose. Writing my story regardless of the genre is life to me. It’s invigorating. A powerful drive to live the next day.
The typical day of a novelist. A life filled with chaotic silence and indescribable words hiding inside my head, waiting for release. A life filled with procrastination but fun.
You see, there’s not that much to talk about. I hope you enjoyed reading my life with satisfaction.
P.S.: If you are a novelist yourself, you understand what I’m talking about now. If not, it’s okay. We’re different persons anyway. Ciao!
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