Here’s a true-blue, no BS look into the life of one writer (this one):
While revising, I am adding a scene to the front of book two featuring a character that does a very bad thing at the end of the book, and I have to remember not to give it away. I have to forget that I don’t like said character very much anymore. I have to keep everyone else from feeling this. This requires a delicate touch and great concentration. Delicate touch. Great concentration. Mm hmm.
Pest control is here, spraying the outside of the house (no more black widows and scorpions and biting red ants). The dogs are going batshit insane.
The Sith Princess (my six-year-old daughter) fell while scootering and bruised the crap out of her leg and is still crying (yes, I tended and loved on her).
My husband is herding children like cats while fielding phone calls with his very large voice.
The Sunshine Boy (my nine-year-old son) appears and stands silently beside me while I write and pretend not to notice. He’s staring at me, grinning, reveling in being annoying until he wins. I look up. “Go get dressed,” he bosses me. “We’re going to get new toys and then we’re going to eat. You’re supposed to meet us.”
I was promised pho for dinner this morning, so I’m on board! But I’m also crafty, and ready to enjoy some focused writing time in the perfection that is silence. I bid them a fond farewell (it’s the farewell that matters!).
They all troop out (cue the sound of dogs barking again, and cats meowing, and my husband talking to pest-control dude, and children babbling, and the door opening and closing and opening and closing. This is the desert. It needs oil.).
And then…sweet, blessed, joyful silence. It’s like one of those Haagen-Dazs bars with the ice cream and the chocolate and the nuts…but better. Silence doesn’t melt.
It lasts 4.5 seconds. The garage door squeals again and Zach leans in to shout, “Dad means it! Get dressed!” *SLAM*
I think they know me.
And now you know I write in pajamas.
Have a great one, all. I gotta go get dressed. I have a hot date with a handsome biker dude and the two balls of mischief that are our youngest children. And they’re feeding me PHO!