It’s been a while. I’ve been stressed, building the new start to my MS that will wow the world.
Writing is hard, and the more I learn to plot more than pants, the more I realise that writing is HARD. And no longer can I write 2K a day aimlessly, getting lost in banter-flavoured exchanges and plot-irrelevant quirkiness.
The time I write is a time of concentration. I can’t even listen to music while I kill my darlings; yes, their screams are so loud, I hear nothing anyway. So writing while my kids are in the vicinity is a challenge, and it’s one I accepted with ugly consequences.
I’ve thought about a few writing ‘camps’lately, but the one I’m thinking of now is the ‘I’ll write when I must’ camp vs the ‘I’ll write when I can’ camp.’ Hand on my heart, massive respect to anyone who has a non-writing parttime/fulltime job and THEN comes home to write or writes before breakfast. I’m not sure I could do this and stay sane. Although my style does have a mental edge. . .
Does that mean I shouldn’t write? I don’t know. Maybe it’s more about finding the right time to write, for me, for my family – like when the kids are in bed for example.
After all, they are the reason I write like I do, and an ogre glaring at them is not the fairy-tale life children are looking for.