*hiding under the couch*
No, seriously. That’s about how it feels. I have 7 year old twins. and now I’ll have 12 weeks with them at home in which I need to entertain them in some fashion other than the TV, because the husband refuses to do day care.
Not that it will affect my writing that much. I haven’t been doing any what with the blockage and all. But I have started my research up again, and that can take up some time – read a little make notes to dig deeper into something, read some more, think “damn, that’s harsh,” make a few more notes, grumble because I have to take care of the laundry, the garden, the gutters…
Now I must make plans for entertaining to small people with the attention span of gnats, while still inching forward in the direction of dreams, which may or may not turn out to be nightmares because results may vary.
The problem I run into everyday, but more so during the summer, is that it feels a great deal like what I want to do with my life and writing and so forth, are very different goals from wants my family wants me to do. They don’t seem to mesh together very well. “DO work towards your dream to be an author, but do it on our schedule, otherwise you are an incredibly shitty person,” seems to be the message.
Talking about this only makes the more adult members (in age, at least) tell em that I’m reading too much into things. “And you are going to be mowing the yard this coming week, right?”
Summertime seems to enhance that sensation of required personal sacrifice.
The goal right now is to push out the first book in 2021, now I wonder if I’m going to have to push it out further to accommodate everyone else.
Check out the Insecure Writer’s Support Group to see more writers dish about their concerns, their solutions to various problems, or just a general fear of defenestration.