The
Writing Life. It sounds so idyllic, doesn’t it? When I think of “the writing
life,” I get an image of someone sitting by a pond with a journal, blissfully
scribbling away their thoughts. Or maybe typing because they’d like to be able
to read those thoughts again later. And then I think about my “writing life”
and I have to laugh.
A typical
day in the life for me runs a lot like a typical day for any homeschooling,
stay-at-home mom. The baby tends to wake up first. The sounds of him
experimenting with language and volume eventually wake up his older brother who
then comes in to see if it’s time to get up yet, despite having a clock next to
his bed that turns green when it’s okay. It’s usually not green. He just wants
to make sure that it didn’t break overnight. (This is his reasoning – he’s a
little writer in training.)
So we get
up and there’s coffee (glorious, glorious coffee) and breakfast and squabbling
about whose waffle is larger (Answer: The machine that stamps out the waffles
and freezes them for boxing does not vary in size. No matter how much it looks
like your brother’s waffle is different, it isn’t) and who got more butter
(Answer: Your brother did. Because I love him better, obviously.) and can I
please have some coffee too? (Answer: No.) All during this time, I’m trying to
mull over whatever plot point I’m currently stuck on – because I’m always stuck
on something. I only seem to get unstuck by making myself keep writing and
promising to figure it out later.
Then it’s
time for a spin in the idea box – or as most people call it the shower.
Honestly, I get the best ideas in the shower. There’s something about all that
steam and quiet (oh, the quiet!) that loosens up the old brain (and the
sinuses, so bonus there during allergy season.) I quickly scribble down the
ideas when I’m out and then wrangle the boys into clothes. And then it’s off to
whatever chores/playdate/cleaning marathon is scheduled for the day. All the while I’m people watching and blatantly
eavesdropping on conversations to try and see if there’s something I can use in
my next story.
After
lunch (same general squabbling as breakfast, but most of the time not with
waffles), it’s nap slash quiet time. This is when I actually get to write on my
computer. It goes something like this:
Tuck kids
in bed, older one with books. Kisses, hugs, lots of love. Sneak downstairs and
boot up the computer.
“Moooooommmmmmm.”
Run
upstairs. “Shh. You’ll wake your brother.”
“I have to
go potty.”
“So go.”
Return downstairs and open Word.
“Moooooooommmmmm!”
Run
upstairs. “Shh. You’ll wake your brother.”
“I need a
drink of water.”
“You have
cups in your bathroom. Go get a drink.”
“I can get
up for a drink?”
“And the
potty.”
Back
downstairs. Skim over what I wrote last to try and remember where I am. Look at
my ideas from the shower this morning. Realize they don’t work for this story
at all, but file them away for something else another time. Wonder if I have
any old ideas that might work. Dig around for old scraps of paper, find
nothing. Just start typing and promise myself I’ll figure out the issue during
editing. Get about 200 words written and realize I’m thirsty. Get a drink.
Figure out where I was and keep typing. In a perfect world, I’d get two solid
hours of writing here. What usually happens is the phone or the doorbell rings
(or, bonus, both at the same time!) Handle the issue, get back to writing.
“Mom, I
can’t sleep.”
Realize it’s pretty much the end of quiet time anyway. Save, close the document. Dig out school and do that. Then it’s play time and hubby gets home and then dinner time and bed time. And then, finally, when the boys are in bed, it’s back to the computer with a word count or time deadline firmly fixed in
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