Deadlines And Play Time

Barbara: I don’t know if I mentioned to you guys that I have a few deadlines looming lately. I’m trying to simultaneously write 4 different projects that are as different from each other as Astaire and Cera, as ice skating and roller derby, as winter and summer. So it gets interesting in this household to say the least.

People ask how I can write four different stories at the same time. Well, that part is easier than it sounds. I liken it to having children: you treat each child as the utterly individual beings they are, but you also know them so well, so intimately, that you don’t even have to think about it. When you’re with them, you’re just in their zone, talking their language, feelin’ their vibe (ooh, yeah). 

My issues flare up when it comes to balancing writing with down-time and family. I love to write and I love these projects. I want to get them right (and rather need to, as well). But what happens when my family humbly requests my presence? Politely asks if I will join them for dinner, for a chat, for a movie? Do I hiss in their faces that I’ll eat when I’m damn well ready (or, worse, cook dinner)? Do I ignore them as they reveal their latest news and keep tapping at my keyboard while offering the occasional , Mm-hm, Uh-huh, and Awwww? Do I pretend to watch the movie while actually composing the next scenes in my mind, and then pretend to discuss the movie afterward with some kind of authority while really not knowing at all what I’ve just seen???

The thing is, I know I need down-time and breaks (and dinner) or my work will suffer. But when a deadline (or in my case: deadlines, plural) is looming, how do you prioritize?

This is what I’m doing, for right or wrong. When my kids need to tell me something, I finish typing my sentence and give them my time (I know I can usually get right back in the flow, but I might never get that moment back with them) When my husband needs to tell me something, I ask him to wait (you see, he gets it. And while his feelings can get as hurt as the next guy, he’s also remarkably resilient.). If it’s my turn to make dinner, I prepare my go-to quick meals (even if we’ve had chicken six times last week, or *shudder* take-out). Housework and taxes? Those fall by the wayside, but I do try to set aside an hour here or there to manage them. Amazingly, stuff gets done (if not exactly to “spring cleaning” standards). Movies and playtime? This is my Achilles heal. It feels like play should be put off till I’ve met my deadlines. But when another deadline will just replace the last one met, then that might mean deferring it till, I don’t know, 2013. So I force myself to put away the computer for certain chunks of time. And watch a movie. With my peeps. Is it hard? So very!! But I do feel better afterward. Refreshed. Ready to write more and better.

But it’s also a constant battle. And one I have to keep reminding myself to wage. How do you do it?

Deb: When our son was younger this was a real issue for me as I wanted him to know that he and his Dad were always my first priority, but I also wanted him to learn to respect the fact that my work needed my attention too. We came up with a solution, the memory of which still warms my heart.


I told him "Luke I will always stop writing to be there for you, so you never have to worry about that." But when someone is writing it is awful to be in the middle of the perfect sentence, the perfect thought, and be interrupted. When that happens, your creative moment comes crashing down. So, here is my idea Luke. When you want me, just come up behind me and gently and without sound, lay your hand on my shoulder. That will tell me you need me, I will finish my sentence or thought and then I will be all yours." The sweet memory of that boy coming up to me time and again, laying his hand on my shoulder and waiting patiently just lights me up. And it worked.


And as a young adult writer I hope he understands how important that little ritual was. As I am writing this, I would give anything to have his lovely hand on my shoulder. What I wouldn't give right now for one sweet distracting interruption from my boy. 

To Don't List

Barbara: The other day, Deb and I were working on a script and we were looking for some touchstone differences between a husband and wife for one (funny) scene. We asked Deb’s husband for some input: what bugs him about his (mostly perfect) wife? It didn’t take him long: when they are snuggling in to watch a movie at night (an activity that Deb has probably just rallied for), it is always a matter of seconds before a telltale ping of an email sounds and Deb’s eyes glance sidelong to her computer (this is really funny when reenacted by our Deb, btw), and only a matter of a few more seconds before Deb must––MUST, I tell you––sidle over to the computer to just––JUST, she swears––peak at what the email might be. Movie on hold. Probably not for the last time that night.

We laughed and laughed.

Beyond the laughing, I didn’t say much. But oh I could recognize Deb’s actions deep in my bones. Lately, it seems that I’m on my computer 90% of the time. If not to write with Deb, well then there’s my other screenplay, a novel re-write, 3 TV show concepts, and 3 other co-written projects. If that’s not enough, I’m blogging (case in point) and emailing and facebooking. The computer has become my other arm. And, you know what? I’ve been waiting for this kinda busy. I remember years ago watching in wonder as a busy colleague opened her datebook and it was FILLED with appointments, jobs, and meetings. I was still a fulltime actor (which means you only work a few handfuls of days a year) and new mom to 2 kids, and I would have given anything to squeeze in a few more commitments. I wanted my day-timer to be FULL. I wanted to be busy busy BUSY.

Be careful what you wish for. Today I found myself with a rare day “off” (after hosting a houseful of teens for my daughter’s 17^th birthday––love you, sweetie!). I kicked up my heels and picked up a magazine. Haven’t done this for AGES. And it was lovely and relaxing. And then I got to the inevitable article that was going to burst my happy little bubble. It was an article about how overworked and overwhelmed we all are now. Especially women. With our appointments and jobs and commitments. And that we––here’s the stinger––wear our busy-ness like some kind of badge of honour.

According to the article, it’s one part true need, one part over-extending ourselves, and one part indulgent self-absorption (what, me?). We are making our own worlds. Like busy bees on a mission to build that perfect hive. Then it gets worse: apparently if we never turn our busy-ness off, we might in fact be giving short shrift to the bigger picture of our lives … because there’s no quiet time to really meditate on our choices.

The article does go on to say that it could also just be a phase. You know, you’re crazy busy this month (or week or day), but not so much the next one. It all levels out. So which is it? Coveted (even secretly) busy-ness, menial self-absorption, or a simple and inexorable life-phase?

Deb: Honest to Pete, I was roughing out my post for Wednesday and this was the subject. I love it! But I was a little thin in the fleshing-out department, so this, as it turns out, is perfect. I can respond with the smattering of thoughts that I had.

What I was going to say was that I am constantly amazed by the fact that the thing that can catapult me into the best mood, the happiest headspace, the most solid stress-free zone, is simply––TASKS COMPLETED! I find myself buoyed by the organization of the rec room. I am struck with giddyness when I reconfigure the dog drawer. I dance for joy and dream the dream of innocents when the ironing is done. And I don’t even need to pick up a magazine afterward. But if I do, I turn the pages distracted with giddy self-satisfied thoughts of clean drawers and raked leaves.

This, I was thinking is the adult version of “hitting the clubs”! But instead of false eyelashes and slinky dress, I am all unwashed face and overalls. And deodorant? “I don’t need no fucking deodorant!” That can wait till day’s end and my well-deserved shower! And it’s a long, long shower because I am standing under the hot water reveling in the tidiness of it all. I don’t even notice the shampoo in my eye, so focused am I on the memories of the day’s clean, neat, orderly hours. 

Ahh memories ... like the corners of my mind. Hmmmm, still have to get to those. Another day perhaps. 


And PS: Voting for the Canadian Blogger Awards for Best Personal Blog 2010 closes tomorrow at noon. Thank you all for supporting us! 

Labour and Gratitude

Barbara: Today is Labour Day so maybe that's why I suddenly found myself wanting to acknowledge the myriad things that we work at each day.

I am a hard-worker by nature. I truly love having some kind of purposeful work to occupy me (and right now, my favourite by far is writing). Don’t get me wrong—I’m also a Class A relaxer, but only when I “deserve” it. The problem is, I do have a bit of mean-streak when it comes to hard work. If I do something that is to the obvious benefit of others (a communal project or a closet cleaned), I’ll admit it, I expect some kind of acknowledgement at the least and gratitude at the best. Choirs singing and light radiating would be greatly appreciated.

Oh, the paroxysms of emotional stress I’ve put myself through if something I’d laboured over didn’t get the reaction I thought it deserved. The hours creating, editing, schlepping, sweating, cleaning, caring, finagling, organizing, listening, advising, workingworkingworking, without gratitude felt like they’d disappeared into some kind of black hole (if no one said thank you, did it actually happen?). I’ve tried to get over it, I really have. Craving gratitude is not something I believe is particularly righteous. After all, fundamentally I’m not working for others, I’m working for myself. Right? Right.

Even though I’ve gotten a lot better over the years, gratitude is still my Achilles Heal. So I’d like to take this holiday to acknowledge labour in all its glory.

Thanks to all you parents for your hours of invisible chores. Thanks to you children for growing up no matter how well or badly we do them. Thanks to those of you who put your life on the line to keep us safe. Thanks for teaching us, caring for us, researching for us, developing for us, managing, marketing, creating for us. Thanks to those of you who make the things we use everyday, and those things we might use one day in the future. Thanks to everyone for being part of a bigger picture. Thanks for being brave in millions of seemingly inconsequential ways every day. Thanks for all your efforts, whatever they may be, that help keep this world ticking and talking, humming and developing, changing and growing, fundamentally keeping us all connected through strands of interconnected work.

Closer to home, thanks for reading this blog, for commenting, entertaining, participating, considering (and thanks to all you patient readers who’ve tried repeatedly to post comments that haven’t stuck—this seems to happen quite a bit and we can’t figure out why!!). Thanks for writing your own brilliant blogs and sharing your lives and feelings with us with such honesty. It’s a blog world here and, without you and your efforts, it would be a Love’s Labour Lost. Instead it is a labour of love.

Happy Labour Day, everyone! Now get back to work.

Deb: Could not have said it better myself. And didn’t. So a final thanks to Barb. And on a related note, 20 years ago I spent Labour Day, in labour and had a beautiful boy on September 3rd, 1990, for which I am eternally grateful. His birthday has only fallen on Labour day twice since then, but in 1990, Labour Day took on a whole new meaning.