I told myself that when school started I would hunker down and get back to writing. However good my intentions, this blog post is the first thing I've done. It's not that I'm reluctant, it's just that I forgot I had a 1/2 acre garden to harvest and I also forgot about my addiction to sleeping once I get the kids down to the bus. I forgot told myself I'd make each of them a quilt for Christmas, catch up on my scrap-booking, help with the library inventory, renew our passports, do my husband's accounting, bla BLA BLA.
What is really going on here? I think I tricked myself. I gave myself excuses NOT to write. Why would I do that? I thought I loved writing? I mean I do, it's just that underneath I see that my family is not so happy with my obsession. They sense my detached, distant self who can't quite shake off the make-believe world and return to the real one. I might love getting lost in a good story, but they don't.
So how can I keep good relations, but still follow my passion? I have to FORGET the imagined world. TURN IT OFF somehow so I can fulfill my role as coherent, logical, bill-paying, diner-cooking mother. Not so easily done, especially when it goes against my artistic instincts.
HOW do I do it? I ask myself one simple question.
Which do I want more? Then the answer is simple, I want my family of course. I have the strength to focus on them for a few hours at least until they are in bed.
OK so if it's 9:30 am right now, I have six hours until they are back. I've got to CHOOSE WISELY what I do with my time. Characters can wait, they'll still be around after I'm dead. My family needs me NOW. (and so do my organically grown veggies.)