Hello friends,
Thanks so much for all your support for my last post. It felt good to write and it felt even better to read all your comments. I really and truly appreciate the time you spend here and the thoughts your share.
Today I want to talk about pajamas. As usual, yes, it will relate to writing in the end. Stay with me here.
I grew up mostly in the South, in suburbs, in neighborhoods where the houses were 5ish years old and you could always ride your bike to where they were building even more houses. Sprawl. Our houses were always well air conditioned and well heated, and we were very lucky. So I never had to wear warm pajamas. Maybe I’m a hot sleeper, but I have basically worn old tshirts and soft pants/shorts to bed my entire life, at least since I could dress myself. Maybe I wore socks in January. Once or twice.
I have lived in Brooklyn for 20 years, in apartments that were built at least 100 years ago. Some times they were too-heated and not-air conditioned. Sometimes it was the other way around. I lived through the blizzard of ‘96. I remember when it used to snow in NYC. But still, to this day, it surprises me when I go to bed and I’m cold. It does not occur to me to dress warmly for bed, even when I’m cold before I’ve even hit the sheets. I don’t sleep with an electric blanket or 50 pounds of down. (I’m allergic.) Flannel pajamas are things people need in like Maine or Antarctica. Never me.
So, I’ll get into bed, shiver, and then remember that I can wear warm pajamas. I’m shocked every time. Shocked, I tell you! I cannot explain why this thought process doesn’t happen while I’m actually getting ready for bed, but only after I have pulled the covers over my head. I am 45 years old. I should know how to dress for warmth at night now.
It’s an old habit. That’s it. It’s ingrained in my being, after years of living in more or less tropical climates, though soon I will have lived longer in New York than I lived down there. But every time I get out of bed and pull on a waffle-knit shirt (my fave) and some thick, cotton socks, and snuggle back in to bed, I feel like the smartest damn person in the world. I have discovered layers. I have solved my problem. And I am taking care of myself. Maybe, just maybe, this winter I will do this before I get into bed. Then I’ll know I’m a real grown-up. It’ll be ok, though, when I don’t.
You can do this, too, with your writing. You can outline when you never have, or vice versa. You can shut down the nagging voice in your head that says omg whyyyyyyyy would you choose that word???? You can start in the middle or write the end first or try third person or whatever it is that’s the opposite of what you usually do that you know you need to do. That thing you remember only after you’ve already started. You can do it then, too. It still counts. You can break your own old habits.
These old habits might not be holding you back. They could just be minor inconveniences. The point is not that if you break these old habits you will write books at triple the speed and sell them instantaneously and be a mega-star overnight. These old habits are not what’s holding you back from reaching the best seller list or whatever it is you really, really want. There probably isn’t one thing that’s holding you back from that because it’s not one thing that gets you there. (And tbh the thing that could get you there is probably not under your—or my—control.) It might just mean your feet are warm at night, that pages go by a little easier, your jaw unclenches from the effort. Small moves, Ellie. This might unlock something that unlocks something else and over time, you don’t even notice that it’s easier or lighter or something else you didn’t expect. This isn’t a life hack. It’s growth and learning. I, for one, and tired of hacks.
Stay warm,
XOXOXOXOXOX
Kate
Love this post. I just decided to create a two-line pitch, synopsis and beat sheet BEFORE I started writing my current gothic novel. It's a very different approach for me, but so far it feels kind of comforting.
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