How to find time to write a book...

Wouldn’t you just love to be one of those people who only needs four or five hours of sleep a night? I swear they exist; I’ve got positive confirmation that these strange creatures walk among us. A friend of mine is married to one, and though I keep finding excuses to pat her on the back, I’ve yet to discover a wind-up key or other evidence that she’s not actually human. (I should probably stop my little investigation; she’s starting to avoid me.)

Imagine how different your life would be: You’d spring out of bed at 3:30 a.m., exercise, maybe organize your closet or pay the bills – and, of course, work on your novel. All this before the rest of the country staggers into their kitchens, bleating like mindless sheep for their coffee.

Unfortunately, you guys are probably more like me: I’ve got an intense, life-long love affair going on with sleep (kind of like Prince Charles and Camilla, but less yucky). I pine for it when I don’t spend enough time with it. I talk about it incessantly, plot ways to get more of it, and get cranky when my private time with sleep is interrupted by, say, a small child climbing into bed with me at 3 a.m. and promptly peeing on me.

Stick with me; I swear I’m about to get to the point here.

The point (oh, thank God, I hear you sigh) is that everyone I know has the same question: How do you make the time to write?

I hear you. None of us have enough time in the day to tackle everything we need to, and this year especially, I feel like I’m desperate to stretch the seams of those measly 24-hours units as far as possible.

But no matter what else gives – my laundry pile could be a perfect body-disposal spot for the Mob, and a family of five could dine quite well off of the leftovers on the floor of my minivan -- I always, always find a way to write, even if a 20-minute chunk is all I can carve out that day. Here’s how I look at it: Writing is exactly like exercising. You need to do it consistently to get results. (At least that’s what I’ve heard – I don’t exactly have that exercise thing down yet.)

I used to think I’d write a book when I had more time. I imagined myself breezing into the perfect little coffee shop, where, after sipping a steaming espresso, I’d poise my fingers above my laptop’s keyboard and watch as a flawless novel unfurled. I wouldn’t write the whole thing in a single day, of course – it would probably take a few weeks. But as long as the conditions were just so, creative inspiration would emerge, almost like a separate entity, and I’d sit back and watch it go to work.

Huh. I’ve since learned writing, at least for me, doesn’t work that way. I have to write when I’m exhausted. I have to write when I’m grumpy, when I’m bored with writing, and when I’m convinced I’m the worst writer in the entire world. I can’t make writing too… precious, for lack of a better word (and I’m a writer; I really should have a better word), or I’ll never get it done. It’s the equivalent of a runner faithfully getting out there on freezing cold days, on rainy days when every passing car splatters a puddle’s worth of water on her, and on days when her shin splints cry out for mercy. Sure, there will be days when she feels like she’s flying; when the sun is gentle and so is the breeze, and she could run forever. Those golden days exist in writing, too, but I know I’ll never stumble upon them unless I’ve done the gritty, painful training.

Starting is the hardest part. Just staring at that blank page and feeling it stare ominously back at you can be intimidating enough to make you sprint for that stash of chocolate you’ve hidden from your family and coworkers. (I swear my blank pages cop a real attitude, like, “Oh, you’re going to write a book? Yeah? You and what army?”)

But here’s one thing I try to remember: We all have the same toolkit, filled with exactly twenty-six letters. They’re not all that scary. Some of them, like “q,” seem downright friendly (though “x” can be a bit foreboding at times, like a swaggering bully on the neighborhood playground). Mix them up. Play with them a little. Try them out in different combinations.

And don’t be afraid if you don’t get it right the first time. I read in The Washington Post this week that Elizabeth Gilbert, author of the blockbuster Eat, Pray, Love just threw away a 500-page manuscript because she wasn’t happy with it. Wow. Wow, wow, wow. This hugely successful writer – she’s been on Oprah not once but twice – is pulling herself up the learning curve one painful inch at a time, just like the rest of us.

So, tell yourself you’ll try to write for twenty minutes a day. An hour, when you can spare it. Or maybe you’ll aim for a page every day instead. It’ll add up; I promise: That’s how I wrote my first novel, The Opposite of Me, (you guys know it’s being published next March, right? I can still barely believe it myself.) It’s also how I’m writing my second novel: One letter at a time. Drop me a line through the “contact” link on my website at www.sarahpekkanen.com and let me know how your writing is going!