Cat o Clock
From cat’s claw to Scrivener scrivenings.
In writing class we often review various authors and their writing habits. Morning writers, evening writers, writers under the influence… It seems to fascinate others, what the creative process involves.
It should be said that writing undergoes various stages. Planning, Draft 1, Draft 2, Draft 3, Final Draft: all involve different routines and exact varying tolls of the writer. And each writer, in turn, has different ways of tackling each one.
Planning (yes, I am a plotter, not a pantser) is the one place where freeform thought and imagination can run amok, unhindered by boundaries. What usually emerges from that murky world of unencumbered imagination has a loose structure and story arc. Then begins my favourite part: Draft 1. This is where the bones of the story gain meat and flesh. It’s where the blood starts coursing through the veins. It’s messy, it’s wild, and very, very raw. Draft 1 is where I really form a bond with my characters as the intricate details come to the fore.
A typical day during Draft 1 begins between five and six am, and usually with a paw thwacked across the face. Cat o’clock. The meowing for food and the need to go outside to the toilet are the first needs attended to (the cats’ needs, not mine). Dishwasher unstacking and stacking comes next, followed by a six-cup-sized mug of percolated stovetop espresso.
I take that mug and sit in the lounge watching the sunrise. (Not the actual sun. My lounge looks out onto trees and no sky, but nonetheless the sky through the trees goes from black to grey.)
The mug starts scalding hot, and by the time I finish two hours later, it has gone ice cold. During that time, I think of what needs writing today, that placeholder needing fleshing out.
It is here that I find who the characters really are by rehearsing their speeches and discovering that Ayman uses ‘dad’ and Lucas chooses ‘father’. The scene plays out in my head, and I uncover their foibles and fortes in how they respond to situations, sometimes in contradiction to the plan. I repeat the scene until it all feels genuine.
So, when the cats have returned, wanting their first naps, and when the coffee mug is placed in the dishwasher, I return upstairs, shower, dress, and sit down to write, nay, exorcise the thoughts swirling around from my meditations and contemplations. This is the morning routine that gives life to the pages of Draft 1: from cat’s claw to Scrivener scrivenings.