So, it's Tuesday. Well actually, in Australia, it's already been Tuesday for quite a while. It's after 6pm as I type this.
Tuesday is normally a day reserved for writing. I work three days a week (Monday, Wednesday, Thursday), and the other two are nominally writing days. But this morning, my lovely wife was feeling down. The house was a mess, her job as a teacher has been getting her down (because it's not just five days a week, it eats up her recess and lunchtimes and infringes on her weekends), and our boys have been getting unruly. Perhaps it's the change of season, out of summer and into autumn.
So today, instead of writing, I slapped the house around. Cleared the junk from under the boys' beds and inside their wardrobes, went through the ironing piles (yes, plural) and weeded out some clothes, took 6 bags of clothes and toys to the charity bins. I made dinner (chili con carne) before I made my own lunch. I put away the TV and Playstation for at least a week. I organised the linen cupboard. I did the shopping. I emptied the dishwasher and re-stacked it. And I did my usual school run (three different schools, morning and afternoon).
Because writing is my thing. I dream that one day it will also be my way of making a living, but it is not my life. And even if it were, it is not my family's life.
Every member of Coffee-Fueled Erotica (and a whole bunch of our readers, too) would know what I'm talking about here. For all the times that writers sit and stare into space (yes, we really are writing!), excluding all around us, getting grumpy at the disturbances ("What, son? Food? You already ate something this morning!"), there needs to be a pay-off. Feast must be balanced by famine. Sacrifices must be made.
I'm back at work tomorrow, where writing is something I consistently fail to achieve. At least I get some of my cover art done...
How about y'all? Do you battle these same demons, or do you have fresh ones to share with us?