Writing Reality

Yesterday as I saw my approaching blog post due I was a bit worried. For the first time since we started this blog I didn’t have anything in my head to write about. Why you ask? Because right now I feel like my head may have turned to mush.

See, not only am I writer, but I am a mom too. And I have sick kids. Yes, both of them. At once. With two different things. So yeah, my head = mush. So I asked the wenches (cause they never fail to help a fellow wench out) what to write about. And the first idea was: What it’s like dreaming about writing versus writing in reality. Good topic. Especially since when you think about writing, you grow up dreaming about writing, you don’t ever dream about doing it with two cats fighting over the space between you and your laptop. The dream never includes a whiny, sick kid half asleep on the couch next to you. Or that the other kid is banging away in their bedroom making yet another mess you have to clean up.  You don’t dream about writing in a living room that looks like a toy store threw up. You just don’t.

But here is the thing. I am a writer, yes. I really am. But first I am a mom and a wife. So that means no beach side writing retreat for me. No glasses of whiskey while I hammer out on a keyboard the next great american novel. (not that I would write that anyway. I am a simple girl. Romances for me) No hours upon hours of writing. Just sitting in one spot, writing. No. Maybe when both of my kids are in school, but even then that is highly doubtful, cause then the guilt kicks in. Well, I really should be doing that laundry, or the dishes have gotten out of hand again, and my least favorite,  ugh what is that smell? Oh yeah, the litter box. This is the real life of a writer.

I’m not saying I would change it. I wouldn’t take the dream over reality. Not once (okay, maybe once. Hot coffee..is that even a thing?)  I love my kids.  They are absolutely the best thing I’ve ever done. And it is because of them that I plug away at the writing. Why I stay up later then the entire house to get my thousand words in. Because in my reality, I want to teach my daughters that you don’t give up on dreams. Even if they may have morphed, or rearranged since you first started dreaming them.  Dreams are important. So I keep writing. With my kids screaming. With Dora on a loop in the background. With my lukewarm coffee.

Still, I write.

And just so you know, that picture, my youngest decided Pascal needed to keep me company while I worked on my story. (and my coffee was lukewarm) So yeah, my kids are great.

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