I recently discovered something a little odd: I write faster when I need to pee. I am capable of writing quickly anyway, when I have a story that makes me feel like my head is on fire. I wrote the first draft of Ugly and the Beast in six ten-hours days.
I had another of those episodes, as the THIRTEEN project burned through my brain like a wildfire. I stayed up late to write, snuck time at work to write, and think-wrote every spare moment of the day, when I was walking to work, showering, driving, chewing food. The first thirty thousand words took less than four days.
But needing to pee? It actually produces words even more quickly. It sneaks up on me. I’m at the computer, pounding away at the keyboard and I can’t stop. I don’t dare interrupt. I don’t want to interrupt. At some point, I realize I’m writing faster, typing faster, holding my breath, and crossing my legs as a preventative measure.
Of course, I have to get up and pee, and when I come back, the story picks back up, but it loses some of that strange sense of urgency. As though my body had become convinced that I had to finish the story before I could empty my bladder.
I know, you appreciate the over-sharing. It’s one of the hazards of knowing me. Eventually, inevitably, I’ll say something inappropriate.