Right now, I have a dream. It involves a nice office where I can write without interruption; where my train of thought can be picked up instead of being thrown into the abyss of “What a Great Idea, Now If Only I could Remember It”.
I mean, I love my children so, so much, but I think my daughter must have been a cat in a past life. I swear to God, she is an expert at figuring out the precise moment my butt lifts off the chair so she can steal my spot. And, just like with a cat, trying to sit on her doesn’t help one bit.
Go figure.
Before the kids, finding space has never been a problem. I grew up an only child, so if anything, I had too much space, which probably contributed to me writing so much in the first place. Writing, after all, only is a little less crazy than talking to the neighbourhood cats and dogs. There was even a time, after we first moved into a real house, that I had two rooms for myself–one served as my bedroom and the other was my office. There was so much space for weird things like movie posters and aquariums and mice. One time, I even had a bucket of snails.
And then I got married. And had to share. Boo.
But no, to be honest, it was probably a good thing. I’ve found over the years that productivity doesn’t require perfect circumstances. Rather, reminding myself that I only have so much free time really works in motivating me to do something productive with it. In fact, I think I’ve finished more manuscripts and drafts in the five years since I’ve had children than in any other time in my life. I finished two manuscripts in the year after I had my daughter, both written on a little laptop while she slept beside me, because holy hell if that child was going to nap and let you walk away from her at the same time.
Still, an office would be great. Or a writing shed. Any of these would do. But I’m sure my daughter will find a way to sneak in so she can go on Youtube to watch My Little Pony or make some art of her own. And I’m okay with that. It’s just karma–I used to do the exact same thing to my parents when I was her age, back in the days of DOS and pixellated graphics.
Good God, I’m old.
