A Day in the Life of a Writer
by Steve Lazarowitz

The alarm rings at precisely the same time each morning. I'm always up five minutes before it. I never look at the clock. I know it's 8:25. I lie there, half asleep, until my mind starts to function.

This is probably how most people wake up in the morning. The realm of slumber recedes slowly and thoughts of the day drift in to fill the vacuum it leaves behind.

Sometimes I wonder what other people think, when lying in bed in the morning. Some people might think about what they need to get done that day. Maybe they think about what they'll wear, or what bills are due. Perhaps they think about a business meeting or having to make breakfast for the kids and get them off to school. Or they might be thinking about the baseball season, which is rapidly approaching its climax.

I get up in the morning and I think about matters that I'm not certain I should share with anyone but my therapist. Except that I can't, because I don't have a therapist and if I did, he'd just be one of the aliens anyway. They don't need any more help. They know too much already!

My mind doesn't fill slowly in the morning. It snaps on, revving its proverbial engine. Already, I've considered things that would make Alice's trip through the looking glass, seem more like a five minute run to the grocery store.

So my mind is alive and kicking, but my body is not. I'd been writing till about four hours ago and it did not get enough sleep. So it lays there, while my mind does laps around the room. Perhaps this is what some people call an out of body experience.

Finally, I drag my weary carcass out of bed and look longingly at the toilet. My bladder is ready, but I'm not. Not yet. First I have to switch on my computer. This way, while I'm relieving myself, my machine is booting. It's more efficient that way.

A few minutes later, I'm sitting in front of my computer, checking e-mail. Since I've only been away from the machine for a few hours, I only have 20-30 messages. Most are from lists and contain information I don't need, but I have to look, because you never know. There are also the obligatory jokes from friends (I rarely receive one I haven't already read, but again, you don't know if you don't look). Then there are a few matters that do require my attention.

One person is asking to interview me, another is asking if I'd be interested in collaborating, one of the authors I mentor has sent me three chapters to look at and one member of my critique group is asking for someone to read his 4500 word fantasy story.

I think about the twelve books I still have to judge for a contest, the three chapters I have to look at and decide to pass on the critique, even though I owe the author at least one, if not more. Oh well, I'll catch him next time.

I look at the clock and decide that I have just enough time to take a quick look at an article that's supposed to be due in two weeks. I haven't edited it yet. Damn! I must have been tired when I typed this. Or else the errors sprung up while the machine was off. Probably the damned aliens again.

So I'm editing and the next thing I look at the clock and realize I'm late for work. I charge into the bathroom (stubbing my toe on the same empty fish tank that I stub it on every morning). Curse loudly and then more loudly. Hop to the bathroom and into the shower. This is when Kara tells me to shave.

Nothing like pulling a sharp blade across your face while exhausted and rushing. Okay, showered, shaved, dressed and on the way to work. Yes work. Most fiction writers need to work. Though I hope, within the next two or three years to have a large enough writing income to pay for my lunch each day.

I manage a computer store. As soon as I get there, I turn on the computer and let it boot, while I hang up my coat. After all, it's a five minute walk and I might have e-mail. I send the cashier out for coffee and a bagel or two. I usually ask for a coffee large enough for midgets to swim in. Something with a diving board, preferrably. Okay, checking mail and refueling my system. Now that I've eaten, checked my mail and had my coffee, it's time to... check my e-mail again.

Okay, so I'm addicted. But I'm still answering calls and assigning machines to technicians and being a manager in general. Pop on ICQ too and start harrassing people there. Mostly editors and other authors.

Strangely enough, most of the day I spend thinking about my next meal. When can I have it and what it will be. Working in the same place for thirteen years does tend to make food selection a chore. Which brings me to a theory I've held for some time.

People often say they get tired of eating the same food repeatedly. So seemingly, if you work in a place with a limited number of restaurants around you, you might get bored, no matter how big the selection of available restaurants.

It is my contention that boredom with food could be solved if people would treat each meal in a manner that more resembles Buddhism. The Buddhists have a saying. "When I awaken each morning, I leave my mind a blank page for the day to write upon." What has this to do with food?

Well, when I eat something, I'm eating it for the first time, EVERY TIME! That's right. I don't assume it will be exactly the same as the last time I had it. If you like a food and have it a lot, you get bored, but presumably, it's not because the food has changed, but rather, your perception of it. So if you consciously decide to eat it again for the first time, you would not be tired of it, because you'd never have had it in the first place. Which neatly solves my problem, I must admit.

Okay, I've worked all day, kept up with my e-mail (so I'm not inundated when I get home), I've fixed machines, dealt with irate customers, made a few customers irate and in general earned my paycheck. It's time to go home.

As I mentioned before, I live rather close to my place of employ. So when I get home, the first thing I do is power up my computer and check my e-mail. Might have gotten one on the way home. While I'm on the computer, I start writing something. Perhaps an article. Or working on a story. Not much time though. I have to look at those chapters. Not the ones I got this morning. The ones I got two weeks ago, that I never got to, from yet another author that I mentor.

At some point, I eat dinner (often while sitting at my computer). I check e-mail periodically throughout, as well as chat on ICQ.

Between writing, editing and mentoring, I'm at the computer for several long hours. I was going to go to sleep early tonight, but by the time I look at the clock (and can make sense of the numbers which are swimming before me), it's late again. I look at how much work I've accomplished and start to think about bed.

Yes. I'm tired. My body hurts. My eyes sting. My behind is sore from sitting. And the bed looks just so inviting. But I can't sleep yet.

First I have to check my e-mail.

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