{"id":1988,"date":"2020-04-22T16:31:47","date_gmt":"2020-04-22T16:31:47","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/niemanstoryboard.org\/2020\/04\/22\/writing-through-chaos-borrow-a-cabin-do-a-snow-wheelie-get-a-kryptonite-hug\/"},"modified":"2024-03-07T17:13:19","modified_gmt":"2024-03-07T17:13:19","slug":"writing-through-chaos-borrow-a-cabin-do-a-snow-wheelie-get-a-kryptonite-hug","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/niemanstoryboard.org\/2020\/04\/22\/writing-through-chaos-borrow-a-cabin-do-a-snow-wheelie-get-a-kryptonite-hug\/","title":{"rendered":"Deadline writing when the world is in chaos, your house is imploding and kids are home from school"},"content":{"rendered":"    \n    <div class=\"  core-block\">\n        <div class=\"block block--core block--core-html mb-5   max-w-screen-full mx-auto\">\n            <strong>EDITOR&#8217;S NOTE<\/strong>: <em>This essay first appeared in <a href=\"https:\/\/www.thecabinidaho.org\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">The Cabin, a center for writers in Idaho<\/a>. It is used with permission. Also, read Kim Cross&#8217;s <a href=\"https:\/\/niemanstoryboard.org\/stories\/a-writers-survival-guide-tips-for-defying-distraction\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Writer\u2019s Survival Guide: Tips for defying distraction<\/a><\/em><em>.<\/em><br \/><br \/>&nbsp;<br \/><br \/><span class=\"legacy-dropcap\">O<\/span>n the third day after schools are closed, my editor asks, politely, again, when I can send her my final revision\u2014the one that\u2019s three days late. I squint, for the gazillionth time, at <a href=\"https:\/\/www.bicycling.com\/rides\/a31245986\/two-strangers-meet-bike-ride-journey\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">the 6,000-word story<\/a> I\u2019ve been working on for a year.<br \/><br \/>In my left ear, two chain saws buzz outside my office window, where a crew is felling trees. In my right ear, the opening riff of \u201cPurple Haze\u201d whines from my son\u2019s electric guitar, played in the faltering cadence of a twelve-year-old boy learning Hendrix via YouTube.<br \/><br \/>I lean into my computer, willing a cone of silence or a Jedi force field to materialize around me and my story. I have one more paragraph to fix. But that fix requires mental gymnastics: Geography. Chronology. Mileage. Math.<br \/><br \/>On a normal day, this should take minutes. But normal has left the building. \u201cLately things, they don\u2019t seem the same,\u201d Mr. Hendrix sings through the wall, and I wonder: Is it tomorrow or just the end of time?<br \/><br \/>Now, as the anthem of quarantine living assaults my brain in stereo, I stare at my prose, seeing alphabet soup, not knowing if I\u2019m going up or down. Instead of impressing my editor with a lightning-quick revision, I whip out my phone, film the situation, and send her this video. I don\u2019t like making excuses, but the facts can scream for themselves.<br \/><br \/><iframe loading=\"lazy\" src=\"https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/embed\/TRmiE_dovsQ\" width=\"560\" height=\"315\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen=\"allowfullscreen\"><\/iframe><br \/><br \/>My editor, a fellow mom, replies simply: OMG.<br \/><br \/>This is around the time we discover a succession of structural problems with our house. It\u2019s a parade of horribles so unfortunate as to be comical. Imagine a season of This Old House scripted by the writers of The Office.<br \/><br \/>It starts when my husband \u2014 whose coping mechanism in times of crisis is home improvement projects \u2014 decides to fix some steps on our deck. As he rips out the old ones, he notices the wooden pillars supporting the deck \u2014 and the second-story balcony \u2014 are rotten and about to fail.<br \/><br \/>My husband calls me down to share the despair, and I watch him extend a solitary, tentative finger to touch the wood as gently as one might wipe a tear from a newborn baby\u2019s check. A chunk of wood disintegrates in a little puff of dust. \u201cDon\u2019t touch it again!\u201d I scream, imagining a catastrophic deck-collapse worthy of memes and animated GIFs.<br \/><br \/><iframe loading=\"lazy\" class=\"giphy-embed\" src=\"https:\/\/giphy.com\/embed\/3FcmisopTbOpO\" width=\"480\" height=\"397\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen=\"allowfullscreen\"><\/iframe><br \/><br \/>My husband presumes the rest of the deck is composting itself, so we\u2019ll have to tear it all down and rebuild it. To save money, we\u2019ll do the demolition ourselves. To his credit, my husband shoulders most of this work, while my son and I carry token armfuls of wood and broken concrete up the hill before pooping out.<br \/><br \/>The removal of the deck uncovers another great riddle: Why is the ground so wet and squishy?<br \/><br \/>Because the water main is broken.<br \/><br \/>We call a plumber. In investigating the squishy-ground problem, he discovers new problems indoors. Apparently our house was built with the Chinese drywall of plumbing. These pipes, known to corrode and burst, were the subject of a class-action lawsuit. Which we\u2019ve missed by a couple of years. Homeowners insurance does not cover exploding pipes until they have, in fact, exploded. So we add to our growing list of expenses \u201creplace all pipes in house.\u201d<br \/><br \/><iframe loading=\"lazy\" class=\"giphy-embed\" src=\"https:\/\/giphy.com\/embed\/lVBtp4SRW6rvDHf1b6\" width=\"480\" height=\"320\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen=\"allowfullscreen\"><\/iframe><br \/><br \/>We refinance the house to afford this.<br \/><br \/>Neither the re-plumbing of the house nor the deck reconstruction can start until the broken water line is fixed. In the act of fixing the water main, the repair crew busts the gas line. As the smell of natural gas fills our home, my husband runs into my office, screaming, \u201cWe have to get out \u2014 NOW!\u201d<br \/><br \/>We stand outside in the street in our socks as the fire trucks pull up, lights blazing. Neighbors emerge from their homes, drawn by the flashing lights and the smell of gas, which is permeating the neighborhood. We all stand there, watching invisible gas spew from the man-sized hole in the yard, like <a href=\"https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/watch?v=TWIsHTLYpwM\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">extras in the Hurt Locker<\/a>. The fire marshal turns to me and says, \u201cI wouldn\u2019t start your car right now.\u201d<br \/><br \/><iframe loading=\"lazy\" class=\"giphy-embed\" src=\"https:\/\/giphy.com\/embed\/146BUR1IHbM6zu\" width=\"480\" height=\"252\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen=\"allowfullscreen\"><\/iframe><br \/><br \/>In an hour, I have to do an interview that has previously been rescheduled. I don\u2019t want to postpone it again, so I go, still dressed in pajama pants. At least they look like track pants. I have to borrow a car from my mother and a notebook from my source.<br \/><br \/>At the end of what I reasonably consider a long and sucky day, I go back home to find the morning crew still digging man-sized holes in my yard, searching for the elusive water line after the gas line has been fixed.<br \/><br \/>I stand beside one hole, my toes at eye-level with the man inside, and watch him shovel mud as viscous as wet cement. After offering him a snack and a drink, neither of which he needs, I ask him, \u201cOn a scale of one to ten, how does this rank on the sucky-day scale?\u201d He pauses, leans on his shovel, and smiles a genuine smile. \u201cOh,\u201d he says with a shrug, \u201cit\u2019s just about a three.\u201d<br \/><br \/>I reassess my day. It hasn\u2019t really been that long, or truly all that sucky. My edited assessment: inconvenient, expensive, and a gold mine of story material. Another silver lining: Unlimited opportunities to keep my husband busy, and therefore happy, and therefore out of my hair and my workspace. Downside: The symphony of construction \u2014 table saw, air compressor, many hammers, and occasional chainsaws \u2014 becomes my new writing soundtrack.<br \/><br \/><iframe loading=\"lazy\" class=\"giphy-embed\" src=\"https:\/\/giphy.com\/embed\/l41lTclqVOnRkNxYs\" width=\"480\" height=\"361\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen=\"allowfullscreen\"><\/iframe><br \/><br \/>\u201cEarplugs,\u201d suggests a writer-friend. \u201cAmbient music.\u201d<br \/><br \/>The next day, as I sit at my computer, playing ambient music on noise-cancelling headphones, I feel a hot and humid sensation on the back of my neck. It\u2019s my son, literally breathing down it. Just to see if I\u2019ll notice. (I do.)<br \/><br \/>\u201cThe great enemy of writing is being interrupted by other people,\u201d says the writer Joyce Carol Oates. \u201cYour worst enemy will have your most beloved face.\u201d<br \/><br \/>I\u2019ve worked from home for seven years, one of which was spent simultaneously nursing a bed-ridden patient. Before that, I spent 180 days a year on the road as a travel writer. Both jobs required getting things done in suboptimal conditions. I\u2019ve typed features in tents, filed stories from summits, and met deadlines in a hospital room. I once thumbed a whole essay on a not-so-smart phone in a YMCA parking lot.<br \/><br \/>But this is harder. Though my daily routine as a freelance writer hasn\u2019t changed dramatically, I am struggling more than ever to stay focused, productive, sane.<br \/><br \/>Maybe it\u2019s the lingering low-grade anxiety, which hovers at a level that makes it easy to underestimate its insidious effect. It\u2019s like the chlorine smell of an indoor pool. After a while, it seems to disappear \u2014 until you go outside and breathe fresh air.<br \/><br \/>Or maybe it\u2019s that my most beloved face has a super secret weapon. My son, who is not quite a teenager, comes into my office several times a day and throws his arms around my neck. Usually it\u2019s disguised as a head-lock <a href=\"https:\/\/giphy.com\/gifs\/26ufdF55Yu7Ni9KIE\/html5\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">or a noogie<\/a>. Or an impersonation of <a href=\"https:\/\/getyarn.io\/yarn-clip\/dd887cac-c842-4553-8157-37ec24504920\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">Dwight from The Office cracking imaginary eggs<\/a> on my head. But I recognize the love language of pre-adolescent boys. And son-hugs are my kryptonite.<br \/><br \/>But while much of the world has altered its pace, my deadlines have not. In fact, they have somehow accelerated. How can it be that just before this pandemic I signed a book contract with a deadline in three beleaguered months?<br \/><br \/>This thought is drowned out by the piercing wail of a bugling wanna-be elk.<br \/><br \/><iframe loading=\"lazy\" src=\"https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/embed\/xOIv6d-LqJ4\" width=\"560\" height=\"315\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen=\"allowfullscreen\"><\/iframe><br \/><br \/>(Ok, not really. That was actually my writing soundtrack last fall.)<br \/><br \/>\u201cI need a monastery!\u201d I cry in despair to a friend. She tells me about St. Gertrude\u2019s, a Catholic monastery in Cottonwood, Idaho, that generously provides food and lodging to artists and writers-in-residence.<br \/><br \/>The application requires an essay, which reads a lot like this one. I note in the essay that in the course of writing it I am interrupted no fewer than <span style=\"text-decoration: line-through;\">15<\/span>\u00a0 <span style=\"text-decoration: line-through;\">20<\/span> \u00a025 times. Sensing my urgency, Sister Theresa expedites the process and asks when I can come. I tell her I can be packed and on the road in less than 24 hours.<br \/><br \/>Just before I\u2019m set to depart, Sister Theresa shares some deflating but not unexpected news: county health officials have advised them to close the convent to outsiders.<br \/><br \/><iframe loading=\"lazy\" class=\"giphy-embed\" src=\"https:\/\/giphy.com\/embed\/l0MYB17ZzaTTpl8S4\" width=\"480\" height=\"361\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen=\"allowfullscreen\"><\/iframe><br \/><br \/>I\u2019m lamenting this turn of events to a friend, a scientist who is also a writer, when he responds with an unexpected and generous offer:<br \/><br \/>\u201cMy family has a cabin in McCall. You\u2019re welcome to go there and write.\u201d<br \/><br \/><iframe loading=\"lazy\" class=\"giphy-embed\" src=\"https:\/\/giphy.com\/embed\/NEPy1nvpxnKjS\" width=\"480\" height=\"480\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen=\"allowfullscreen\"><\/iframe><br \/><br \/>In the last sliver of time before mandatory lockdown, I lock myself down in his cabin. I pack books, a laptop, sticky-notes, a printer, index cards, an acoustic guitar, enough food for 10 days, four bottles of wine, and a 1940s Royal Quiet Deluxe typewriter.<br \/><br \/>Ensconced in monastic solitude, I will myself to forget that the world as we know it may never be the same. I don\u2019t watch TV or check online news. My husband phones in updates. My son plays me Hendrix on FaceTime. Otherwise, I stay in my writing cocoon.<br \/><br \/>In 10 days, I finish <a href=\"https:\/\/www.bicycling.com\/rides\/a31245986\/two-strangers-meet-bike-ride-journey\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">that 6,000-word feature<\/a> and send it out into the world. I publish a second story, write a third, map out the structure of the book, and write a few thousand words of manuscript. I\u2019ve heard that every time you\u2019re interrupted, it takes 20 minutes to \u201cget back in\u201d to the writing. Without constant interruption, my brain feels like it\u2019s swimming in some performance-enhancing drug.<br \/><br \/>On breaks, <a href=\"https:\/\/www.allrecipes.com\/recipe\/24944\/snow-ice-cream-ii\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">I make snow ice cream<\/a>, type long-overdue letters, and <a href=\"https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/p\/B-qk7gJh3gm\/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">practice wheelies in the snow<\/a>. At night I sip wine with a home-cooked meal, build a fire, and play my guitar. My birthday comes and goes \u2014 no presents, no cake, no worries. Not even the 6.5 earthquake can shake me out of this joyful fugue.<br \/><br \/>When it\u2019s time to come home, I feel like an over-worked mom who has just spent 10 days at an all-inclusive resort spa. (I just made that up. Do such places exist?)<br \/><br \/>I come home to no less chaos in a house that continues to be a comedy of horrors. The corroding pipes are still ticking in the walls. We\u2019re still waiting for the county to dig up our yard with a backhoe. The half-demolished deck still mocks us every day, though the worker who fell off it, carried to the ambulance on a stretcher, in a neck brace, is \u2014thank God\u2014 okay, suffering a sore shoulder but no permanent damage. I have never felt so thankful.<br \/><br \/>The world is still weird. There is still not a leaf of Charmin to be found in any store. The shelves are still devoid of pasta. Jimi Hendrix still rattles my walls, and the table saw still serenades me through the floor. But somehow the cabin mojo stays with me.<br \/><br \/>Like the fence my husband is building, one cedar board at a time, my stories are gradually taking shape, one sentence at a time. Some days the words feel like cinder blocks. But books and houses don\u2019t build themselves.<br \/><br \/>As I finish this essay, my son barrels into my office. Reading over my shoulder, he laughs at his cameos, gives me a noogie, and says, \u201cThat sounds EXACTLY like a boy my age!\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u2018Scuse me, while I kiss this guy.<br \/><br \/><em>Kim Cross is the New York Times best-selling author of &#8220;<a href=\"https:\/\/www.google.com\/search?gs_ssp=eJzj4tVP1zc0TDIzsDROK88zYPQSK89ILFEoLknMSylWyMxTSASy84tyAeY2DH0&amp;q=what+stands+in+a+storm&amp;oq=what+stands+in+a+storm&amp;aqs=chrome.1.69i57j46j0l3j69i60l3.3015j0j7&amp;sourceid=chrome&amp;ie=UTF-8\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">What Stands in a Storm<\/a>: A True Story of Love and Resilience in the Worst Superstorm in History.&#8221; She teaches Creative Nonfiction at Boise State and writing workshops at The Cabin. Listen to her geek out about Taoism, Google Earth as a reporting tool, and why (spoiler alert) she structured a story as a palindrome on <a href=\"https:\/\/soundcloud.com\/gangreypodcast\/episode-81-kim-cross\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">this episode of Gangrey: The Podcast<\/a>.<\/em>\n        <\/div>\n    <\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>EDITOR&#8217;S NOTE: This essay first appeared in The Cabin, a center for writers in Idaho. It is used with permission. Also, read Kim Cross&#8217;s Writer\u2019s Survival Guide: Tips for defying distraction. &nbsp; n the third day after schools are closed, my editor asks, politely, again, when I can send her my final revision\u2014the one that\u2019s [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":8251,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[12],"tags":[],"topics":[],"authors":[287],"issue":[],"class_list":["post-1988","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-essays-on-craft","authors-kim-cross"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v27.5 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>Deadline writing when the world is in chaos, your house is imploding and kids are home from school - Nieman Storyboard<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/niemanstoryboard.org\/2020\/04\/22\/writing-through-chaos-borrow-a-cabin-do-a-snow-wheelie-get-a-kryptonite-hug\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Deadline writing when the world is in chaos, your house is imploding and kids are home from school - Nieman Storyboard\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"EDITOR&#8217;S NOTE: This essay first appeared in The Cabin, a center for writers in Idaho. 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