Summer is a challenge for the writer-mom. The beautiful, reliable schedules of the school year have fallen to late night family poker games, pilgrimmages to SafeCo field to watch the Mariners play, and hours spent shuttling kids to drama camps, baseball clinics and so on. S'mores? We've made 'em. Thrice.
With a manuscript nearly done, I am torn between my desire to make memories with the kids (particularly my eldest who is briefly home from college) and my deep love of routine, my anxiety about getting to the end of this new story. I've also got several freelance jobs awaiting my attention and things are starting to break down in the house (broken drawer in kitchen; irremovable stain on living room rug; and the dust, oh the dust!).
So, where does that leave me?
I have not cracked the spine of a single book I've been saving for summer reading. I have not knocked off any freelance jobs. The manuscript still hovers at 350 pages of not-yet-finished.
I can't figure out whether I'm procrastinating OR I've lost my touch OR I'm reprioritizing OR I'm burnt out OR spending too much time on social media (well, I am doing that, too) OR what. Am I lazy? Maybe. Am I depressed somehow? Who knows? I keep wanting to get the book done and then failing.
Some days I feel ready to really focus on the work and then the phone rings and somebody needs a ride or a bit of conversation. Or the sun starts to set and my husband gets home from work and suggests we open a bottle of wine. Or I go to sit at the computer and get that LOOK from my eight-year-old that reminds me about the weight of the guilt I carry over ignoring my family to write.
This post has reached the point at which it requires an upside, some insight...A CONCLUSION. Have you got one?