Snap Out of It

One of my favorite films of all time is Moonstruck. I consider it one of those perfect little films. First, it was written by John Patrick Shanley,who also wrote the play Doubt. When that film comes out--with Meryl Streep, no less--it will be a must-see film! I also love Moonstruck for the casting--dead on and perfect. I love the scene, especially, between Olympia Dukakis and John Mahoney. But what I especially love is Cher telling Nicolas Cage to "Snap out of it!"

I ended up recalling this scene because I was interviewed yesterday for an article in a magazine on "people to watch in 2009"--and with three book releases, apparently, I am worth watching go stark raving crazy. But more importantly, I was asked how I manage my time. I mentioned him and said there really is no such thing as time management in my life. But then I thought about it seriously. And I reached the same conclusion I often do.

Snap out of it.

You see, somehow, by virtue of writing being in the arts, I think I used to get invested in what I "needed" to create. I needed candles and music, and a quiet place. A room of my own, so to speak. I needed uninterrupted time. I needed to be in the zone. I needed to be free of emotional pain. I needed to not be worried about anyone in my life. I needed . . . I needed . . . I needed . . .

One the absolute blessings of being 40 years old and pregnant--with three other children to care for--is you find out pretty damn fast you don't need any of that. I turned in a book two days before giving birth and one four months after.

One of the blessings of Demon Baby is his ability to give my life a clear-eyed and sharp-edged reality. It was as if he were born specifically to tell me, in craptastically clear terms, "Snap the crap out of it, Mom." (For lurkers who are not regular readers, he is three, brilliantly diabolical, and his favorite word is crap. Preferably said VERY loud and in the vicinity of old ladies in the grocery store who look at him like he is the anti-Christ.)

In fact . . . I work. Relentlessly but not tirelessly (BIG difference). I work and work and work my craft at odd times, in stolen moments, before dawn, at 3:00 a.m. I work it that way because I have to and there's nothing heroic or different about it simply because what I do is in the arts and what someone else does is nursing or teaching or slinging hash or building a road. There's no huge mystery to the creative process. I mean, yes, there is. Like I really CAN'T tell you where I get my ideas from or why I have a Muse who lives on cocaine and cigarettes if the sheer volume of ideas she gives me is any idea. But there's no mystery to the WORK of it. You sit your ass in a chair and snap out of it.

Well . . . I've got to run. That Muse on cocaine and cigarettes just phoned in a new idea.

Thoughts? Ever feel like you need to snap out of it? Ever feel like you have to tell someone ELSE to snap out of it?