Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Leslie Langtry's Typical Writing Day...

In an ideal world, this would be my writing day:

I awaken to the view of a fantastic sunrise over the ocean, from my tempurpedic bed, with freshly-washed sheet (dried on a clothesline). I sing as I wander through the perfectly clean house, accompanied by cartoon birds and chipmunks, ending up in the kitchen where an extra-sharp cheddar and bacon omelet awaits. After a five-minute workout that burns 2,000 calories, I shower and dress in a cashmere t-shirt and shorts and sit down in my Stressless easy chair to write.

Do I even need to mention that the words flow from my fingertips and I weep at my cleverness? After two hours, I've produced 50 pages of work an editor would not dare to change. For the rest of the day, I sit on the beach with my new best friends - Libba Bray and Tina Fey - while George Clooney serves us cocktails...shirtless.

And this is where you, dear reader, remind me that I am, in fact, a writer of fiction...aka - a liar. Here is the real story:

I awaken to an alarm clock that gets lourder each time I hit the snooze button - which means it is now shattering the windows. I step in a hairball coughed up by the cat. Then I twist an ankle, stepping on one of the many shoes I am too lazy to pick up off the floor. Real animals - in the form of pets - follow me around the house, nagging me to feed them. I work out on the treadmill for half an hour and sweat like a fat man in Death Valley at noon - only to discover I've only burned 10 calories. I take a shower and put on whatever is clean. The dogs now want to go outside, just as I start writing, and once out - want back in. If I don't comply, they bark loudly at any person, squirrel or leaf stupid enough to walk within a mile of our house. I try to wake the kids - which is as much fun as shaving my legs with broken glass. I check my email. I check my Facebook. I begin, at last, to write. Eight hours later, I have ten pages of pure crap. I open a bottle of wine and watch Leverage. I go to bed. Then I wake up because I forgot to make the kids go to bed, and go back to bed.

Okay, it isn't like that ALL the time. And if I had a perfect day all the time - my writing probably wouldn't be funny. Right? Yes. That's it. I'm sure of it.

George Clooney, shirtless and serving me cocktails would be nice though...


  1. Absolutely hilarious in its very inconvenient truths! The only difference in our perfect days would be if Gerard Butler was serving me Coldstone's THE PIE WHO LOVED ME ice cream...and of course instead of its normal jillion calories, it would actually burn fat. Thanks so much, I haven't laughed this hard in awhile.

  2. Ooh, Jill...I forgot about Gerard! He's fabulous and funny too. I could listen to that accent all day. Sigh...

  3. I was truly entertained, Leslie! And your writing day sounds a lot like mine, except for the treadmill (IDK what that is...) and clean clothes.

  4. Great, Laura! We'll take Jill with us to the beach after. We'll just have to share George and Gerard...but I don't see that as a problem.

  5. Aah, Leslie....I didn't know you lived at my house? Seriously thank goodness for your blog. I've returned to LA and the house is a wreck, the kids are unruly, and I need to crank out some words. But...I AM a writer.

  6. Clearly we're living the same life (except I step in dog vomit instead of hairballs!) xoxo