I’m a writer.
I’m a mother.
I work full time.
I buy way too much yarn.
I’m taking into assumption that most of us here are not vampires, and therefore sleep. When do we get to write, is what I want to ask? Is it a luxury or a necessity? For years I had been treating writing as if it were a luxury, while in reality it is a necessity to me just like breathing and eating. You know what, there are machines that can help you do that, but no one – not even the best of editors can do your writing for you.
So how do you go about the world, with this unquenchable fire within you, juggling home and kids and jobs? I’ve seen the questions from fellow writers of all genders and non genders, on forums, on websites, at conventions: how do you find the time? How do you find the time? And most of them were directed at those who have made it, the chosen ones. And the chosen ones would answer: I wrote during the night shift, I wrote at 5am before waking up the kids, I shut myself in the basement. I have a really supportive spouse. Or whatever. And we listened hungrily.
But the time was pressing, the desperation great. It’s not working for me, I thought. There’s too much going on – maybe this art thing is reserved for those who have money or nannies or full time cooks. Whose spouses are stay at home parents. It’s not fair, it’s really not fair.
But as the time passed, my desperation grew. I wasn’t going to wait. I couldn’t wait. I needed to get out those stories, now. I need to make it happen. But I’m not going to go at it alone; I know you are there, too, waiting at the station, abiding your time. So hop on, we have questions that need answers, and it’s up to us to discover them.