Today I Wrote
It doesn't exist until we make it
I taped a podcast on Tuesday with a friendly middle-grade author who told me she wrote her first novel while teaching five college classes and raising a young child. I recognized the rhythm. I wrote my first book when our daughter was four, working odd hours in between her nearly non-existent naps, working nights after her bedtime. I got it done.
It feels hard this week, though. The writing. I sat down at my desk at 8 a.m. today and crossed three items off my to-do list before most people finish coffee. But I have yet to start the thing. Chapter 38 of The Novel.
My neck is tight. I’m edgy, irritable. Today is a writing day. And I am not writing.
