Welcome to the March edition of Insecure Writers Support Group.
Apparently I’m very insecure.
I thought IWSG was last Wednesday, and then my calendar pinged me with the memo that it’s tomorrow, or today I mean.
Another month deposited in the bag of life and I admit that these last thirty days have been a whirlwind of change and upheaval.
· Mama and I are now outnumbered and alone with the kids when her mom and dad went home after an amazing two months.
· I attended the Southern California Writers Conference and totally recharged my writing batteries.
· Mama also returned to work, so it’s just me versus them… and they are everywhere… one’s watching Blue’s Clues, the other’s watching the bowling pins come down… and the littlest one… he’s watching me… as he rocks in his rocking thing.
Needless to say, I ain’t doin’ no writin’ in the a.m. or the afternoon, so it’s all about the late evening…as I yawn and wonder where the creativity is gone (I imagine it like some ER doctor sleeping on the pull-out couch, waiting for the call.)
Hello, 911… what’s your emergency?
Er, yes, I’m a stay-at-home dad and my three boys have staged a coup d’état… there’s just so many of them…
OK, sir, don’t cry, no one likes a bald whiner, it’s unsightly. You need a shot of creativity, don’t you?
(Blows nose) Yes! Yes, oh yes, please.
Well, sit down and start writing… your horrible typing skulls will soon wake up the creativity doctor.
Are you sure?
You just made this whole thing up…
I did, huh….
It’s crap and not funny, but at least you’re writing…
Obviously I have problems getting to the point… but after 302 words (304 now, or 312 if you include this whole sentence) I must say I’m struggling with WIP this month.
At least, that’s how I felt until I began cleaning the shower while No. 1 Son used the toilet, No. 2 Son brushed his teeth (with his brother’s brush) and No. 3 Son woke up after only a quick nap.
Hands covered with Lysol “with Bleach to remove the entire mold!!!” I washed my hands, grabbed the wrong brush; gave the right one; changed the baby; found the fallen “paacie” (thank you, dear Jesus, for granting someone the wisdom to invent the pacifier)
I checked No. 1 Son, who was still happy on the potty, but wanted to know “why the bathroom smelled like the swimming pool.”
He looked up at the haggard husband of his Mama and added: “Papa, you’re a great.”
“A great what, son,” I said, turning aside to get back on bended knee while the shower mocked me.
“You’re a great Papa.”
I swung back to catch the tail end of one of the brightest smiles evah, and then he simply went back to his latest book (about Santa’s trip from the North Pole… am such a bad parent… must change books in basket…)
“Thank you, son! I think you’re great, too. You’ve really made my day.”
His nose buried in the book, I think I heard a “You’re welcome” as I stole a kiss.
Heading back "to clean a mocking bath" (also a great book by Sharper Leaf) I realized that, sure, I’m struggling with my writing (and parenting!) but I can’t, and don’t ever want to quit.
I hit WIP up for several pages tonight while the boys and Mama slept safe and sound.
Leaning back in my office chair (that has no office) I’m good.
It’s all going to work out just fine.