I have been writing since I was in elementary school. I still have a file somewhere with poems and stories written in my sloppy, left-handed eight year old handwriting. Also in that file is a portion of a novel that a friend and I were co-writing when I was about 10 years old. We never did finish it, but I still think the plot is kind of brilliant and have occasional dreams of resurrecting and completing the book.
I really struggle with completing my writing projects. I started a project about a year ago that is still swirling in my head. The irony of finally having characters that speak to me on a regular basis is that I now have so little time to actually make those characters live.
Lately, I've been contemplating what I want to do. I love being a stay at home mom, and I wouldn't trade my often stressful days of trying to keep up with an ancient house that's falling apart, my kids, and my husband for even the biggest paycheck I made in my always stressful government job. On the other hand, I really hate being the mom who can't afford clothes or makeup. Recently, my flip flops broke and I've been wearing a well-loved pair of Toms that I'm praying will make it through the rest of this pregnancy (after which I will hopefully be able to fit into my other shoes). I struggle with constantly asking The Husband for money, since I spent a decade working to support myself before I quit my job to stay home.
I have a dream of someday publishing a novel. I know a few Indie authors who've had recent success in the urban/paranormal/fantasy genre (which is where my novel would fall), so I know it's entirely possible to earn at least a little money from a book...even if it's not published traditionally. Thank goodness for social media advertising!
I just need to find time to write. I feel like my house is never clean enough. That no matter what I repair or replace, there is always something waiting to fall apart (which is usually what happens when someone lives in a 90 year old house for a decade without doing any kind of upkeep). It doesn't help that I absolutely hate this house. I feel awful saying it because I know so many people are worse off than I am, but this house makes me dream of arson. When I'm pregnant, I tend to dream about things that I really want. This pregnancy, my recurring dreams have been either sexy enough to make The Husband blush like a virgin (bless his ginger heart) or of me getting a new house.
Added to my house drama is an eight year old who is not really independent. She is capable of doing things, but needs constant supervision and instruction. She often wants me to tell her how to play. I was a very self motivated, independent, and imaginative child, so I really struggle with what often feels like Princess' neediness. Speaking of neediness, I have apparently enabled The Husband into codependency. When we first began dating, he was a fairly self-sufficient single dad. He may have lacked cleaning and cooking skills, and been more inclined to buy new underwear than to wash the dirty laundry, but he and Princess obviously survived for a few years without me. Even when I was working full time (and then some), The Husband was fairly helpful with everything except cooking and doing the dishes. I haven't even mentioned my active 16 month old, energetic 6 month old Catahoula puppy, and 9 year old German Shorthair Pointer who thinks he's a puppy.
So while writing isn't an impossible task, it's certainly not an easy one. I feel like I should have been able to find a balance at this point, but it still eludes me. I daydream about being able to leave the kids with The Husband for a few hours a couple times a week so I can leave the house to write, but The Husband's schedule makes that incredibly difficult.
Right now, I'm just hopeful that these characters will continue speaking to me long enough that I can get their stories out of my head and into my computer.
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