Like the majority of the wonderfully talented writers I know, writing isn’t my only jig. I have a full time day job. And a four year old and a house and laundry and a whole slew of other things that take up my brain space. Limited space that right now realllllly needs to be full of the characters in my next book. Deadlines and all that jazz.
I took of the week from said day job to try and get my next novel completed and to my publisher. And as I type this? I’m hiding at Starbucks b/c the amount of laundry sitting in my writing room makes me want to cry. I put it there so I wouldn’t have to look at yesterday. In a perfect world I would spend my days writing and my evenings and weekends with my kiddos. Hell, if we’re throwing out fantasys I’d also have a lovely and kind housekeeper to help me out. She’d be sweet and full of wise words. But that’s not my reality. In reality my life is an unorganized cluster f**k. It’s gotten to the point where I can’t even attempt to write when my husband and daughter are home. Maybe it’s old age, but I require peace and quiet to concentrate now. And I swear to you guys, my family…they are the loudest people on this planet. I scream at them out of necessity. Usually.
I literally can’t do it all. And I sure as shit can’t even attempt to do it all with grace and a smile on my face. That isn’t me. I get frustrated, I get stressed. I’m human. If you were to watch me try to balance my life it would be an ugly uncoordinated dance full of cussing. I’m a this difficult in between stage with my writing. I’m doing really well, but not quite well enough to quit my day job. So I can only write in the evenings. When my daughter was younger, finding free time to do that was easier. Now she’s this little person with thoughts and opinions and things she wants to share with me. Every second of every day.
As a mom and as a creative person, I want her to feel heard. I want her to know she’s brilliant. But achieving that every time she decides to change clothes for fun or re arrange her room or over feed the fish to the point of death…isn’t easy. It takes patience (which I don’t possess in spades). Obviously I can’t trust the little fish killer alone for more than two minutes. So sometimes, I’m more wicked witch than I am Mary Poppins. But I take a deep breath, I forgive myself, and go hug my kid. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, it’s all about balance. Balancing what needs to be done with what you want to do. Balancing the things that make you who you are with the things that make you crazy. And I can assure you guys, I don’t achieve it every day. Sometimes I fall short, and I know you do to. I’m just here to show you my dropped balls, so you feel better about yours 😉.
I deal with my imperfections by going to the gym (for the thirty minutes I have between work and school pick up) and drinking wine (often) and watching trash tv and teenage dramas. And apparently hiding from my life at Starbucks. I live in the old people capital of Texas, so I’ve heard some interesting stories today. But now, It’s time for me to go home. Maybe do a little laundry (but if not, we’ll all live) and hopefully do a lot of writing. Here’s a little something to get us through the day.