The Writing Break

Last week I was reading the acknowledgements in a thin little book written by a pastor. I felt my temperature rise when I read the line: "I would like to thank the congregation for giving me six month leave in which to write this book."

A six month break? Are you kidding me? Flipping through the pages again, I realized I could have written the book in six HOURS!

I've read more than my fair share of books recently where the authors thank someone for giving them a break from other responsibilities so they can write. Well, sure, I get a break some evenings from helping out with the dishes (but then, we don't do dishes at our house, we just let them moulder and then put them back in the cupboards after the dog has licked them clean), or I might get a break from mowing the lawn (if I can seduce my sixteen year old into mowing two acres for $5 with an eighteen-inch push mower).

But a break from work, from life, from marriage, from parenting . . . in order to write a book? Who are these prima donnas who need their precious silent space and seclusion in order to work for six months on a 120 page book? I'd like to meet them.

My realities have been much different. I've written entire books in weeks, all the while holding screaming children on my knees, or tossing them dog biscuits while I say, "there, chew on that while daddy writes another chapter!" or writing late at night while the wife hollers down from the upstairs bedroom, sounding like a Jewish mother: "When are you gonna kill that light and come to bed already?"

Six months to write a book? Okay, I can buy six months for a monster volume of 500 pages, or perhaps six years for a book written inside the terrible crush of research, travel or interviews . . . but six months for a book about praying the Psalms or how to tend to an ingrown toenail? Give me a break, pal!

Someday . . . I'd love to have six months to do nothing but write . . . all day, all night, seven days a week. But my family would hate me. I'd fill an entire shelf.