is to let go of the idea that a creative life is free from upheaval.

What I mean is this: each day I when I wake up, my mind arranges the day in tidy task-oriented squares. From the hours of 8:30 to 9:30 I will empty the dishwasher, begin a load of wash. I will eat my breakfast then clear the dishes from the table. I will take a washcloth and wipe the crumbs from the counter. I will make my bed and open the blinds.

My laptop will be fully charged. Beside it a glass of still water. The humidifier will provide a sufficient hush and I’ll open submittable and begin reading the abundant submissions, making notes, up-vote or down-vote, audit and label. I’ll read 30 of these packets by 10 am.

Then the inevitable. A child wakes vomiting. A friend’s father has been hospitalized with a heart attack. The valve on the steam radiator gives-way and needs to be repaired. The package you were expecting is delayed, a medical bill arrives in its place. You realize the entire household, for the third time in as many months, has once again run out of toilet paper. Your car is out of gas.

The task-oriented squares scatter. The day blown to bits. When will the submissions be read? Who will stay home to care for the sick one? What can you possibly say to comfort your friend? Is there anything else that needs to be purchased? Is there a check left in the check book?

These upheavals are minor. But the impact is not. The upheavals destroy the fantasy of the writing life and replace it with a real writing life.

My fantasy writing life is regular and disciplined, exact and withholding. Self-assured and easy.

My real writing life is scattered and haphazard, imprecise and unregulated. Anxiety-inducing, and difficult.

The one thing a writer must do is embrace the upheaval, and write alongside it. The upheaval like wind in the sails.

The real writing life is the one thing a writer must do.