Voids

I left a comment over at Debby's blog about angry people.

I wrote, Several years ago I was talking to one of our senior lead mechanics about one pilot who would throw a tantrum at the drop of a hat. I managed to get along with the guy, largely by steering the conversation toward his grandson. That would always lighten him up.

Anyway, the guy had come close to crossing a line with me. Close enough that I felt quite in touch with my redneck lineage. I was still miffed about the exchange, and mentioned that to our lead mechanic. He paused, and then said, "We grew up in the same town, y'know. I knew his father, and if you had ever met his father, that would explain a lot." Those words stuck with me.

Some people are assholes simply because they're assholes. But then, I believe many people cling to anger because they grew up with too little love in their lives. For them, anger can be strangely comforting. Anger can fill the empty places.

**

I've followed Debby's blog for a while now. I read it before she learned she had breast cancer, and followed her journey through chemo and recovery. Through it all, she never stopped writing.

She recently posted this: People have often asked how I do it. How I manage to post regularly, despite all the things going on in my life. The answer is easy. I get up early to do it. Each morning, I pad around in my bare feet and night gown making coffee. A morning without coffee would be, well, it would still be a morning, but infinitely worse. So I start my day with two cups of cappuccino from my own machine, and I bring my frothy cup into the living room, and I sit down at the computer. I take a few moments to click through the blogs, and then I quickly type up my post. It's part of my morning ritual. If I have to work or if things are especially hectic, I might not take the time to do it, but mostly I do take the time. As the coffee courses through my veins making me feel human, well, connecting with all of you, that makes me feel human too.

Steve Brewer is a novelist and humorist who stayed at home raising his sons while his wife worked as a managing editor of two different newspapers. He lives here in our northern California community of Redding. When I asked him how the heck he managed to publish seventeen books while holding down the fort as a stay-at-home dad, he answered, "I got up at three in the morning." Another writer friend, Alan Rider, is a stay-at-home dad when he isn't traveling for some writing gig, and his wife is also a career woman. When I asked him how he's done it, I pretty much got the same answer: "I get up early in the morning."

My writing output has declined in the last year, and I think it's largely because I no longer wake at four in the morning on my off days. Most of the time, I wake at the same time as the family. My couple of hours of solo time in the morning have largely evaporated. Why am I not waking "naturally" in the wee morning hours anymore? Am I getting abducted by aliens?

So there it is, doggone it. If I want to up my writing output, I'm gonna have to set a damn alarm clock on my off days. That just seems unnatural.