My drug of choice is writing––writing, art, reading, inspiration, books, creativity, process, craft, blogging, grammar, linguistics, and did I mention writing?

Monday, September 16, 2013

Personalish Update: A Writer's Time

Writing About Writing isn't really a personal journal, but some days it's hard to ignore the gravitational pull that life exerts on the world of my writing.  Recently, carving out my own time for writing has become harder and harder. The Brain is only a couple of months away from birthing our latest little crime fighter, and everything in The Hall of Rectitude has become about the baby.

This picture of me is SO five minutes ago.
Yesterday a bunch of superheroes from other leagues all got together and threw her a shower (well her and another local crime fighter who is due right about the same time).  Even Sinostro and Mezmer-eyes put aside their plans for world dominion to swing by and congratulate her.  (And the onesie they gave us as a joint gift was so fricken totes adorbs, you have no idea!)  It was a grand affair--worthy of superbeings.  There were superpeeps, superdrinks, supersnacks, superdecorations, and a supercake.

No seriously, this cake could have fought crime by itself,
just based on how awesome it was.
Also, buttercream.
The littlest superhero was apparently satisfied by the offering of tiny knitted hats, teething rings, and ironic onesies; it power-kicked The Brain's bladder from the inside no more than fifteen times before it settled down for a a nap. If that's not absolute satisfaction, I don't know what is.

Anyway, the baby madness has been settling in on the Hall of Rectitude pretty hard these last few weeks now that little crime fighter is into its third trimester he has begun to exert what can only be an early manifestation of psionic powers.  Right now the little one can only psychically contact mother, but she is pretty much completely mind controlled.  If it wants more yogurt, she eats yogurt--despite lactose intolerance.  Chicken sandwiches.  BLTs at eleven o'clock at night.  And the demands are only getting weirder.

Yep, it looks like we're going to have a little psychic superhero who will fight crime in amazing little red stripy socks OHMYGODSOCUTE!!! I'm not exactly sure how making criminals fix BLTs and chicken sandwiches is going to thwart their nefarious plans for world domination.  Maybe if they stop in the middle of the bank robberies to go find bacon or something...  

Anyway, The Brain is starting to need more help lately.  She's still in that stage where she doesn't think she needs a lot of help but the other day I was tapped to help her put on sandals, so I think we're going to have to face facts here.  I have to be careful about how I word this, or she'll shut off power to just my laptop (somehow).  The long and short of it is that a lot of little chores are starting to fall to me. Sonic Gal and Uberdude do the heavy lifting as far as fighting crime goes, so I have to be better about doing the chores here at the Hall of Rectitude.  I've even had to be more emotionally available for conversations and hang outs, which while not hard labor or anything, are also not writing and pull some time and energy away from writing.

On top of that, The Brain is getting kind of picky about just how clean the place needs to be in preparation for baby.  I tried to tell her that even if it were pristine, that would last about ten seconds after the first diaper hit the scene, and baby was pretty much going to find dirt to eat...somehow...no matter what.  (Plus we don't want it so sheltered that the first mugger with a cold becomes its arch nemesis.) I suggested that The Brain was being VERY anal about how clean she wanted things, and we might as well start calling it the Hall of Anal Rectitude.

Yeah, that didn't go over very well...for some strange reason.

Anyway, I've recently had to start completely revamping my writing time.  I had been just trying harder and harder and harder, doing the flying machine equivalent of pedaling faster, but this baby shower was a bit of a wake up call that things just really aren't going to "get back to normal."  They're just going to keep getting weirder and weirder.  Soon there will be tiny corporeal manifestations of the weirdness with psychic powers and tiny little socks that are socute ohmygodyouhavenoidea!

Every once in a while it just becomes clear that the time I've carved out for writing just isn't working and that I have to make other arrangements if I'm going to get the work done.  Some who would be writers use this as an excuse to slack off because they"don't have time."  (That or they simply stop writing until the day that wedge of time is returned to them--even if it never happens.) But I think writers who are serious find a way. They find a way to make it work--even with babies on the way or babies in hand or whatever else is going on.  They find a way.  I had been heading upstairs after dinner to write in the evenings, but they have been getting more and more crowded with baby stuff.  So right now I'm struggling a bit with some of the transition of finding new writing time (I'm trying to switch to "insanely early" this week).  I may need to simply leave the house Hall of Rectitude for a while each day, but there is a lot to be said for going to work across the hall in a pants optional work-environment, so I may cling to hope beyond all reason.


  1. Anyone who's
    1) seen our house and
    2) seen our kid
    knows babies can thrive in really messy houses.

    That isn't likely to satisfy someone who really adores pristine homes, but it's realistic.

    Just so you know: Houses stay messier after babies come, and sometimes one person can't do it all and stay sane, especially if they have a second (e.g. teaching and/or writing) gig.

    1. I know we're all going to have to learn to adapt in a big time way. But the nesting instinct is strong in the third trimester and the desire for clean kitchens and bathrooms is a phenomenon mentioned *by name* in birthing literature. :-p