Success = con-TENT'

Organizing My Writing Life
When Beth emailed me her 2008 word, I read CON'-tent rather than con-TENT'. To feel con-TENT' and carve out more time to write, I’m de-cluttering CON'-tents that burden me. One weight I wanted to eliminate—before attending the Writing for the Soul Writers Conference—were a few (I’m lying, a lot of) pounds.

After reading How to Lose 21 Pounds in 21 Days, spending $125 for weird ‘whole foods’ at Whole Foods, I took the author’s advice and set up a “working kitchen.” Like soldiers standing in battle formation, a juicer, a steamer, two crock-pots, two blenders, a rice cooker, and a George Foreman rotisserie lined my “working” counter. Little Georgey Foreman grill is tucked in a cabinet.

The Writing Plan

I don’t know about you, but when I write I lose my appetite and all track of time. My plan? Steal hours from cooking to write. Just dish food on a paper plate, eat, type, and toss plate in trash. This plan worked well until I decided to detox for 21 days to return every cell in my body to a newborn state.

Each day, I prepare lunch and dinner immediately after breakfast and chores. The only problem: lunch and dinner was not for me. After swigging down an ounce of Goji juice ($37 a bottle), taking on about three tons of water and downing a wretched, dirt-tasting Berry Green drink ($32 a bottle), my kitchen no longer “worked.”

More Time to Write. Right?

When in a starved-state-of-mind, food stars in every TV commercial and show. Being a researchaholic, I manically googled mouth-watering recipes. To distract food-mood-craziness, I decided to reorganize my kitchen cabinets. By the time my cells returned to a pure state, I would be able to prepare meals quickly.

Kitchen gadgets, pots and enough dishes and glasses to entertain 300 littered my antique dining table, which led me to my hall closet that doubles as a pantry. I decided to reorganize my dishes by color and holidays in the closet and restuff all foodstuffs into the kitchen cabinets.

I wanted lazy susans ($30 each—I needed 6) and pullout shelves (a minimum of 4) at the Container Store. Next thing I know, I’m standing in my pink leather moccasins on two inches of ice buildup on my driveway. My frostbitten feet slip and slide as my jig, miter and circular saws cut shelves and oval-shaped circles from plywood teetering on saw horses. Cost? $0. That night, with wood chips still floating in my eyelids, I completed a pitch sheet for the conference.

Success = con-TENT'

I survived three out of 21 diet days, eliminated 33 gallons of water, gained five pounds, and finished two out of five pitch sheets. But the CON'-tents in my kitchen cabinets and hall closet look great. And I’m con-TENT'.