My Friend Launched a Writer's Crisis

There I was, happily doing a little light blog reading this evening. Dinner was in the works, FireDaddy was trimming the viburnum out front, and the girls were happily chillin' out in La La Land. Unknowingly, I decided to read the latest post by my friend, and NaBloPoMo amigo, Cheryl. In it, she talks about scheduling uninterrupted time for personal writing, and implies how the internet and blogging has eaten hours of her time.

Guilty. Yep. 100% guilty.

No surprises there.

So, what's the big deal? Well, I started thinking, which is NEVER wise for too long. (I'm neurotic, remember? I'm famous for over-analyzing things...)

I, too, would love to one day be a published author. A real, live, author. A FOR REAL, not just blogging, author. I'd love to see my own words IN PRINT...on PAPER...in a collection of other pages of print...bound together with some sort of adhesive and strings and stuff. You know, IN A BOOK.

This thinking has quickly launched a writer's crisis in me. Well, perhaps it's just a blogger's crisis. Right now, I'm ready to go grab a pen and paper and write things down that I don't want to share. I want to reclaim my permission to write JUNK. Permission to be a crappy writer and just WRITE. Permission to forget all about audience for the day.

But, you see, I'm sort of in the middle of something...(National Blog Posting Month, in case you need more direct hints). And, it's sort of become a "thing" to me. I need to do this. I don't like to fail (even though I technically failed very early on, but I've decided to heck with their rules and I'm doing it for me).

So, here I go...I'm abandoning my blog for the night. (It's a little too late for that, right?) I'm going off to my bedroom to tuck myself away with a spiral and a pen (again) and write whatever it is I dern well please - whether you like it or not!

But, I'll throw you a bone...here's an unfinished draft I found in my post list. Hope you enjoy! (Perhaps it sounds more professional to call it a "cliffhanger" rather than "unfinished"...)

WANTED: New home for five year-old girl. Must not have your own children. Must live in Florida (she doesn't want to have to speak a different language). Must be available to help plan a birthday party in June.

It happened this week.

She told me she didn't want to live with me anymore. She's moving out. She's leaving home.

Well, that was the plan for about 12 hours at least.

7 AM - Fire Daddy wakes me with startled: IT'S SEVEN O'CLOCK!

CRAP!!!

All four of us need to be dressed and walking out the door in FIFTEEN MINUTES! There was NO WAY...

I bypassed the panic button and opted for creativity...er, bribery.

I dashed to "the pink room" and lovingly snuggled up to my Big Girl in her drooling slumber and whispered, "Baby, it's seven o'clock. We're supposed to be leaving in a minute and Mommy and Daddy just woke up. If you girls get dressed and ready really quickly without any fussing or whining this morning, Mommy will buy you a prize this afternoon after school!"

(And in that moment, I officially became the worst mother in the world...blatant disregard to all known good advice...)

Regardless of my poor parenting skills, the strategy seemed to work for a few minutes. The girls were somewhat more cooperative than usual, though Big Girl was very slow moving. The Littlest Princess was amazingly easy-going (call it luck) and she and Fire Daddy were out the door in no time.

Big Girl and I, though, hit rock bottom. All she had to do was put on her shoes and socks while I brushed my teeth (and otherwise dressed myself). Instead, she chose to sit and do nothing, insisting her hair was brushed first. You could call it a conflict in priorities, I guess....or task avoidance.

Inevitably, the reminders grew harsher, the friendly prods turned more towards jabs from a hot poker, and my soft, sweet, loving, tender voice morphed to an onslaught of shrill, wicked threats. Until, finally, after the last warning had been declared and no improvements were seen, the gig was up. It was over. She'd lost it. No prize for her....

...and the Littlest Princess had proudly been promised her reward.

As you can imagine, all hell broke loose at this point.

Doors slammed. Tears streamed. Words were spoken that could not be retracted, though I'm not sure she proclaimed "The H Word" at all (as I would have as a child). And she announced her desire to live somewhere else.

When a mother hears these words, it is a turning point. You can react to it many different ways -- and, in my hyper-analytic, neurotic way, I think how you react says a lot about you....especially in that little person's mind. Well, it would have to MY little mind at that age...

So, what I said was this...

"I'm so sorry, Baby. Mommy's really going to miss you."

I wish I could have been inside her mind to hear know what she thought when I said that.