“Momma, I can’t find anything to drink. Can you make some tea?”
That would be where my thoughts get stopped in their tracks. I adore my TeenRex beyond belief, but lately I cringe when I hear her voice. Have you ever had one of those days that as soon as your butt hits the cushion the questions start?
Welcome to my life.
This daily occurrence turns into longer excursions taking half the day. It turns out there are only twenty-four hours total to work with! Can you believe this? Am still not fully trusting this information, and if you’re a parent (to a furry, four pawed or the taller two legged variety) then this false claim is easily recognized.
I swear the day has half the allotted time. Between a few hours of sleep (zig-zagged around the hobbit and mountain beast cat); work; hiking; cooking; cleaning; spending quality time with the TeenRex and furkids; working out; and anything else I’m forgetting, the hours disappear. Prioritizing some time to get these voices out of my head has become a chore. If that curser isn’t blinking in a mocking way, then the questions fly. Or that fluffy clump of white hair floats past my vision as the sudden urge to shave the cat pops into mind.
The idea of finding the clippers and tackling the almost twenty pounds of fighting fluff never sounds fun, so vacuuming becomes the number one priority. After cranking a good beat, the Dyson gets pulled out of the closet and vigorously used around every inch of the house and couch. Seeing the victory close in hand, an impromptu dance celebration starts after the animals flea the vicious torture device -that Mom’s chasing them with- upstairs. (Not that I actually run after them but it’s turned into an Olympic sport –either the wood floors or paws with no traction wins.) Satisfied with no more interruptions, I sit back down on the couch and smile at the little miracle of clean floors.
The phone beeps a few times but I ignore it. It’s either an email or text, but I want to start this next chapter.
“Mooooooom…” The shriek is heard for a few blocks as soon as the swirled lines on my screen saver disappears. At some point I wonder if dogs for miles hear it.
Taking a deep breath to relax the tick that starts twitching in my neck, I answer as the TeenRex skips down the stairs. “What’s up, kiddo?”
“I’m starving and there’s nothing to eat.”
And she knows this from her room, how? “Yes, there is.” This daily argument expired being fun a few years back.
“Noooooo!” The look she’s sporting says ‘Mom’s lost it’ as she plops down on my feet on the chaise part of the couch.
“Open the pantry door and look straight ahead.” The fairly nutritious snack food is at eye level in an attempt to be visible and easy to grab. There are times I disagree with the eye doctor with his 20/20 assessment last year.
She groans as she gets up to walk the twenty feet to the kitchen pantry. Yeah, not buying it kiddo, your mile run hovers around the five-minute mark. “When did you get these?” Hear a box being torn open.
“They’ve been there since the time before of grocery shopping.”
“Huh. I don’t remember seeing them. They must be new.”
At this point I’m rubbing my temples to stop the throbbing that starts as I try not to get dizzy from the swirls on my screen saver. I need to change it soon. Meanwhile, a loud thump sounds from above and the hobbit runs down the stairs, into the kitchen, thinking he’s going to get a snack too. I’m now dreading the hair I’ll pull off my pillow later. And am not entirely sure why Humphrey is down here since he knows breakfast and dinner times better then I do. The clinking of his claws adds to the days to-do list, but I swear I just did his nail trim other day.
“So what’s for dinner?”
“Food. Why are you asking about dinner now if you’re eating?” I look at the clock and realize I still have a few hours until I need to decide.
Conveniently ignoring the question, “Can we order pizza?”
I’m regretting the day she started talking. The jibberish babbling had been cute at one time and focused at the dog and cat half the time, or the toy blocks as they grew into towering obstacles. Now it seems since she can’t talk at school the TeenRex spews the fifty-bazillion words at me. (I actually am grateful she likes talking to me but there are days it seems to be never ending –the trying to write days.)
She flops down beside me and rests her head on my shoulder. I know it’ll be a whopper of a question now. “Wanna go for a ride?” Dang, now I know how the dog feels when I ask him stuff.
“Maybe.” I’m thinking ‘no’ since I just sat down to try to get an hour of writing in before the fight of dinner starts.
“We can stop by Starbucks.” She sits up and smiles, her light green-blue eyes sparkle knowing she said the magic word.
An iced chai would be good. “You do know you’re evil, right?”
“You love me! Let me change.” She dashes up the stairs at warp speed, and I’m reminded how the pile of laundry grows with so few people in the house.
Daily life has hampered my writing attempts since NaNo in November. I’d dropped off the face of the earth during that month being so focused on the thought of finishing a whole novel. After the euphoria of finishing settled, the guilt started. I’d ignored so much to get that story done, that I’ve been trying to make up for the missed time since. But to what end? I have to write or I’ll go mad. So the juggling begins all over again, and the question arises of how to carve out a few hours every day to write.
The past month has been spent editing stuff I already have done and staring at a blinking curser on a blank page. How do I get the ideas out of my mind and onto the page? I’ve considered trying to find some alternate universe where I could implant a drive that I can use a thumb drive to extract the work in written form. Wouldn’t that be cool! (I can see the Sci-Fy channel movie possibilities of a lost writer in the world of werewolves.) Since that hasn’t happened yet, I’m at a loss.
I posed the question to some writer friends in hopes that their brilliance would shed some light on how to change my… non-typing glitch. The ideas were great and fairly simple. Change where typing. Actually write out with pen and paper (which I love doing). Set a timer and type anything. Change music or play music to tune out possible distractions. Turn off internet. Stop clicking pictures on Pinterest. (That one nearly caused me to burst into tears.) The suggestions went on and I can see the merit in all of them. Just have to figure out which one would be the ripping band-aid, shock, that I need to jump over this hurdle.
Since the distractions mentioned above have gone into overdrive the last few months, the first order of business is to drag out my ear buds to get myself into a bubble. This helps me solely focus on the laptop and the words trying to come out.
Setting ten or twenty minutes aside seems easy enough too. Once dinner is made, the evening opens up more. Not turning on Netflix is simple. I decide heading off the couch and to the kitchen table will be good too (after taking a day to clean it off and picking up around the house so nothing will pull me away once I sit).
The first draft of this Blog came about in this time. Yay! I got up after the twenty minutes for dinner and stopped on a happy note. Even if it had only been four hundred some words and not usable, I don’t care. It’s something. I’m not broken!
The next day, I sat down again to do another twenty minutes. I ended up turning the alarm off and kept typing for a few hours on a Young Adult story that I’ve been working on for five years. I keep changing ages of the main character, flipping back and forth between a freshman and senior in high school. Decision number fifty-ish has been made and I’m sticking with it long enough to get through a whole story. Starting from scratch has been difficult but oddly rewarding. I’m now on Chapter 3.
Now to celebrate Friday and having been able to write a bit here and there this week, I’m taking advice and changing venues. Yes, cue my happy place! Can kill two birds with one stone and have mother-daughter bonding time (with us buried in our own computers sipping drinks of non-coffee). I admit I’m a chai tea latte addict with zero desire for recovery. The people watching has been fun, possibly giving me new side characters, but no hot werewolf look-a-like. If this suddenly stops then I found one. 😉
Just being able to actually type again, even if it’s a bit crazy (which let’s face it, if anyone actually knows me it works), I’m happy. Oh, hello there Mr. Nice Ass walking by…
Though a break every so often is normal and sometimes nice when chosen, it can get a bit frustrating. I realize there’s no rhyme or reason sometimes for blocks, pointing fingers at not enough time or too many distractions is easier then not producing something. We all have our little quarks and sometimes it’s nice to know that others have to deal with the same things. (Thank you to all of you brilliant Romance writers who add smiles to my life, I’d be lost without you.)
HHHmmmmmm… wonder if I could use a guy wearing a trench coat into something? Some of these people are brilliant! I love Starbucks way tooooo much and have come up with fifteen hundred words on one cup of chai! I’m going to go get another and write something else.