Waiting and Writing

finding joy

I have not worked on my novel in almost three weeks. It’s not quite the longest stretch I’ve gone on since I started the thing, but it’s close. I’ve gone through many different emotions about it, from frustration to dread, to longing, and then surprisingly, to joy.

This novel writing break was not intentional. I thought I could keep my morning writing sessions while also merging my magazine and community, Write or Die, with Chill Subs, which has involved months of planning, hours of Google meets, and if not all the creative stamina (and just regular ole stamina) that I’ve got.

But have you seen it? I mean, c’mon, it’s amazing. And I’m beyond thrilled to expand our community and to provide writers with workshops and submission opportunities. This has been a five year endeavor for WOD to grow this way and I almost can’t believe it’s happening. But of course, when building a business and a literary magazine, the time for my writing has been almost nonexistent.

Once things settle and I’ve got a better rhythm, I’ll get back into writing fiction. But it’s been such a wonderful surprise, to realize just how much I miss it. It’s kind of validating. I told my writing partner the other day that just knowing that the story of my novel is still with me, that I can access these characters at any moment, has brought me a kind of joy. Having this draft of my novel waiting for me to finish it, gives my stomach a little jolt every time I think about it.  I’m so excited to get back into it.

I’ve also been thinking about how other parts of my life relate to novel writing. I think a lot about my weekend shifts as a waitress. My novel in progress is set in a country club, inspired by the ones that I have worked in over the years and the one I currently work in. Every time I go to work, I can technically call it novel research. I jot down a lot of notes. I think about my main character and how she might handle a situation. If she has a better technique than me for rolling silverware.

But I think there are a lot of similarities between writing and waitressing.

For one, the multitasking. When it’s busy, I’m thinking of 17 different things at once. This table just sat, so they need to be watered, while this table is waiting on their glass of chardonnay. This table’s food is coming up soon, so I need to head to the kitchen, but on the way there, I remember this other table asked for a side of ranch that I never brought. Someone is flagging me down for their check, while a member that I’m friendly with is trying to tell me about their day or ask me about mine. During a dinner rush, I’m just moving one task to the next and trying to figure out how I can do two things at one time. Every move I make needs to have a purpose.  

That feels very relevant to my writing life. Every scene in the novel has to have meaning or be doing two, if not more, things at once. Like wading through tables, hands tacky from clearing plates, mentally checking off who needs what and at what time, my novel needs a similar organization. I have to ask myself and my characters the same questions. What do you need right now? Is there anything else I can get you?

Handling criticism is a big one. Customers are going to blame me for the undercooked steak or that their salad came out with onions. They know it came from the kitchen but I’m the face they see and, in my presence, their medium well order is bloody on the plate and I’m the only one who can take care of it.

I might not get to the table fast enough.

I’ve gotten to one too fast and spilled wine on a woman’s jacket. So, there is embarrassment too.

I will never forget when a couple told one of my fellow waitresses that he and his wife didn’t like the shade of lipstick she was wearing and that she should consider a better color. Keep in mind that for me, these are customers (members) that we see every day or every week, so they notice any changes about us immediately, like hair colors or tattoos. Or new magenta lipstick shades that someone wanted to wear to brighten up our drab black on black uniform. I think country club waitresses get the criticism a little harder because they remember our past mistakes.

So maybe this job has prepared me for the writing life, which as we all know, is full of criticism and negative feedback and bad reviews and rejection after rejection. Maybe this life of slinging filet mignons and gin martinis clad in a polyester golf polo has prepared me for the trails ahead.

But back to that joy I was talking about.

Does anyone else know what I’m talking about? Is this a thing? To feel the story like a flutter in your gut? To miss it like a best friend? It feels good to miss her (my main character, or I suppose the novel as a whole). It feels good to find the joy despite all the writing that is not happening.

I can look for joy in waitressing too. When the night is winding down, and I take that deep breath that indicates I’m not in the weeds anymore.

I finally caught up.