A quarter of the way through this commitment. I wish I had longer periods of time to write earlier in the day. I’m learning so much about my writing process. The mining aspect is sometimes paralyzing, but ideas are coming more readily because I’m paying attention.
I’m liking letting myself explore the less humorous pieces.
I’m not liking blogging drafts, but I like that I am holding myself accountable by doing so.
Today I’ve been writing a sentence here, a sentence there. It’s frustrating because I have two ideas I want to get down on paper and massage a bit. Today, though, was spent full-frontal parenting. A portfolio day in Kindergarten, some one-on-one time with my “middle” child (the youngest twin), bandaging scrapes, settling disputes, wiping tears, supervising chores, soothing bug bites, making plans, easing fears, making dinner, wiping various body parts.
And I love it. I really love being a mom. What I hate is that sometimes the art world forgets there is more to me. And sometimes the art world forgets that being a mom is paramount. And sometimes the art world forgets that my parenting makes me one of the best get-it-done gals around.
I’m getting it done, although in ways that aren’t necessarily pretty. One sentences at a time. Lines and thoughts written on my hand in eyeliner until I can get to paper or computer or phone. Using the school pick-up-line as a quiet place to journal.
But wanting my 8-10 am time to write. And then again from 4-5. Possibly 7-8 if I’m feeling sassy.
But I’m writing every day. And the 30-150 minutes a day that’s happening are 30-150 minutes that laundry isn’t being done, that my dog’s fuzz is carpeting the hardwood floors, and podcasts go unlistened to.
Those 30-150 minutes, be they in a block or scattered throughout a hectic day are actually making me a better mom. I’m feeling creatively challenged, multi-facited, inspired, funny, frustrated…
Amen to that.