Montage: A Writer's Life

A collection of scenes from 2025: the life of a writer with three little kids, a wife, house, and fulltime office job.

an antique desk sits in the corner of the upstairs room, a narrow bookcase beside it, and a toppling pile of books nearby. A fold out table is across the room, stacked high with bills, to-do lists, paperwork, spare copies of The Darling Killer, and unused parchment paper.

I write while my wife puts the two oldest to bed. The youngest sleeps in a crib, the baby monitor sits on my desk beside my laptop. I make a latte, even if it's late. I give myself sixty minutes to write.

I listen to music, mostly Hans Zimmer soundtracks, while I write, edit, and revise.

The youngest often wakes up, his cries coming through the monitor, through the music, and I run downstairs and comfort him and sometimes he sleeps and sometimes I have to hold him, and the laptop upstairs goes into sleep mode and I try again tomorrow.

when it's my turn to lay the two oldest down at night, I write on my lunch break. I sit in a library three minutes from my job. I can usually work for forty-five minutes. I pack a sandwich every day. It's the easiest thing to consume while working. 

I use social media whenever I can fit it in. I read whenever I have a moment: before I leave for work, while I'm holding the baby, or during a boring football game. 

sometimes there's rain, and I take my latte outside and listen to the rain instead of writing. Sometimes the kids are sick and won't sleep, or I'm sick, and won't write. Sometimes there's trips, projects, or errands that get in the way.

Sometimes I straighten up the house before writing. Most times I don't.

the night after the Columbus Book Festival, a pipe burst. We needed new floors. We spent six weeks living somewhere else. Very little writing is done.

I end up doing less author events than I'd wanted. I end up not publishing a book in 2025. I end up feeling behind and adrift.

I try new things. I try social media tactics that sometimes work. I try paid ads, which don't work. I try a big, expensive promotion that also fails. I give away copies to book clubs online. I wonder if any of them will like it.

I do an event where I sell books and still lose money. I do another event where I make enough to fund most of the next book.

I make new friends. I lose old ones.

I write when I don't feel like it. I write when it's been a bad day, and the mood in the house is weird, and the mood of the world is dark.

I lose respect for authors I love. I find new authors to fall in love with.

I reach out to successful authors online, asking for advice. 9 out of 10 don't respond.

I tell myself to be different. If a writer needs advice, I'll give it. If a writer gets an agent, I'll celebrate. If a writer hits number 1 on the charts, I'll be the first to cheer them on.

I finish the final draft of my new book. I hope I'm a better writer now than I used to be.

My dreams are too ambitious. My timeline too daunting.

I look back on a year of trial and error, failure, frustration, hope, and perseverance. The grind is somehow boring and unpredictable at the same time.

it's life

em jones