Life feeds my writing. Writing feeds my life. And so it goes, back and forth.
The lines between the two are blurred of course.
I try to carry a notebook to catch fragments too precious to let slip away when I’m in the middle of playing with my kids, or shopping for coffee, or in the shower, or arguing with my mother, or walking alone in the neighborhood. Because that’s when plot twists or character revelations so often happen, and I mourn the loss of those things that have already faded with time.
I usually feel like I swing between the two: living and writing, but Autumn is the time when I exist most fully in the “in between.” Autumn is coming, and I am relieved and excited. Summer has been joyful and full of connection and community, but I look forward to the shift of the seasons.
Starting this week, all three kids are in school. (My youngest had her first day of half-day preschool today!) This means that I have a few consistent hours to myself for the first time in seven years. It’s only a few hours, but it’s not time “stolen” from the kids or from my husband or from sleep. It’s a few hours of relatively guilt-free time to work on writing, editing, etc., and it’s another reason to be grateful for Autumn.
So I turn back to the work: to look at author photos, write notes on the cover illustration, update websites, follow up with bookstores for tour dates, finish other book-related business.
But one morning this week, after I drop off the kids, I will sit in the garden or in the kitchen or in my office (it doesn’t really matter because the house will be…quiet), and I will write.
