I love writing. It is one of the most fulfilling things that I do. But sometimes, I just gotta tell ya, writing can really stink.
I'm not talking about writer's block or the business of publishing. Yes, those can be rough, but they are more like bumblebees: they can be painful, but once you know how to act in their presence, they can produce wonderful, golden honey.
Nope, the stinky part, for me, is this: because I have a family and two young children, I spend many, MANY of my spare moments writing. My house is a mess, my laundry, a mountain. Luckily, my family is very understanding of this. Until they have no clean underwear.
And then I have to play catch-up. I spent a large portion of this glorious weekend indoors, doing laundry and cleaning cabinets and scrubbing days-old dishes. My family went to the pool. My neighbors went to the pool. Hilarity ensued. And I was playing catch-up.
Today, some of my wonderful playgroup friends are meeting at the park. I have a deadline I've set for myself (which I take very seriously), so we won't be joining them today. Now, don't get me wrong - I'm welcoming the writing time I've carved out for the day. I just wish it didn't collide with a playgroup outing!
Writers give up a large portion of themselves to write, but I'd say the part that suffers most is the social aspect. Family first, then writing, then house, then...then...then...friends.
This is true, I know, of all working adults. It's part of being a grown-up. And I love writing. I feel blessed with understanding friends who know that I'll see them by the pool next weekend, that I'll meet them at the park next time. Especially now that my kids finally have clean underwear.
(Any and all puns derived from the multiple uses of the terms "stinky" and "underwear" are purely coincidental.)
