I'm half way through the second revision of my first novel. It's taken me over a year of dutiful daily writing to get here, which is actually somewhat of a miracle, given I have two small daughters, ages five and two. The most common question I get from friends and family –
How have you accomplished this with two small children?
The answer is not pretty - by the sheer force of will, a lot
of unwashed dishes, unfolded clothes, teenaged babysitters and dare I admit,
the PBS Kids channel. My personal rule is I must write at least an hour a
day and that includes holidays, weekends and vacations. Weekdays I write
two to four hours a day, derived from early mornings, afternoon naptimes, late
nights and babysitters.
Yesterday was Saturday and my husband prepared in the garage for a week long
Boyscout camping trip with my stepson. The girls played with their older
brother and I crept upstairs to my 'office' - a small desk in the corner of my
bedroom - to work. I hoped to squeeze in an hour before anyone
clued into where I was and begged for water, juice, lunch, hugs, a book - you
get my drift?
So, here I am, writing covertly in my office, really on a roll, I
might add,
and Emerson’s sweet voice drifts up the stairs. She swings open my
bedroom door like the ringmaster at a circus and announces both through
her odoriferous presence and the word ‘poop’, sung over and over in the
melody of “Twinkle
Twinkle Little Star”, that she needs to be changed.
However, worse than the smell and anticipation of the cleansing
of said poop- she has no diaper on.
I jump from my chair, catch her and hold her at arm's length,
praying nothing
plops from her cute plump bottom onto my clean beige carpet, or my
somewhat
clean shorts. She wriggles and flails her legs as I move toward her
bedroom, my mind on the location of the discarded diaper and yet still
swimming in the fictional scene in which I was so deeply immersed only
moments before.
Think how much more I’ll accomplish once she’s potty trained
