Down the Rabbit Hole

I write therefore I am?

October 25th was the date of my last blog entry...my efforts to write with more regularity are not working out obviously. There just never seems to be enough time, which must certainly be the lament of every working mom everywhere. These days when I find I can take a long enough shower, long enough to do more than a passing job at shaving, or do a grocery shopping trip alone in under an hour - those feel like days of unparalleled victory. Most days though, I'm doing a passing job at keeping the laundry up and the house clean, spending marginally enough time playing with my daughter and exactly zero time working on my craft. Writing is just about my only natural ability. I have a pretty good submission to publication rate for fiction under 3000 words. If I had time to write longer pieces, the time to work with a real editor on a marketable manuscript, who knows...I might be one of the lucky few amateurs to get a book deal I would, at least, have a fighting chance. Making the transition from published short story author to published novelist however takes, and this is a very simplified list, time, dedication, commitment and most of all..time. And time, my time, is in very short supply right now. One can't, I've recently discovered, attempt to write a novel over one's lunch break. Instead, I'm reading book jackets with envy as another writer makes another successful debut.

It's probably just as well. What story would I tell anyway? These days I'm consumed with not screwing up raising my daughter and developing more effective couponing abilities. I worry sometimes that the creative pulse in my brain is dying out. I tell myself I should be happy I can still produce flash fiction with any degree of success. I tell myself that I should be pleased that I have followers and fans that appreciate my pieces and forgive my inconsistency in producing them on a regular basis. I do appreciate every kind word, every encouraging review...every person who clicks "follow" for me. I feel that support and it keeps me reaching. Writing after all is about more than the NY Times best seller list or awards and accolades. Writing is about the experience, the catharsis, the cheap therapy. Writing is about keeping myself honest and real. I save everything I write about my daughter so that one day I can compile the blogs and prose into a book for her, to show her, this was what I felt and thought about while raising you. I am confident she will read my words and know what it was to love her, to be loved by her and she will understand that it was simply...everything.

So, I write...whatever and whenever. And I dream about my own book jacket...and just maybe one day I will find just enough time to tell just the right story...