Just a quick stop-by to say that a friend and I went to a free-to-the-public interview with New York Times bestselling author Neil Gaiman last night, and it was lovely. As a writer, I was eager to hear him talk about his process, his inspiration, the building blocks of his career. All the good stuff.
Alas, the audience (mostly made up of university students) wanted to know when he was going to write more Dr. Who episodes, and their questions are the ones that got answered.
Still, I enjoyed the evening. What little I gleaned from the talk (“Writers don’t just write. They finish things. Then they send their work out bravely. Then they start the next story”) was helpful, if not groundbreaking. And it felt like luxury to do nothing but listen to someone talk about stories.
One thing was clear, though. Neil Gaiman writes like a man and thinks like a man, which is to say, he revels in his scads of ‘free’ ‘creative genius’ time. I, on the other hand, am a mom. I write like a ninja, not like a mad scientist. I cannot afford to stay up all night, smoking cigarettes or…other things, rake my fingers through my crazy hair, and then sleep it off the next day.
So I listened and I smiled and I looked down at my watch. Because my writing day will start tomorrow just like it did today–hopefully before my kids need me.
And I’m cool with it.