Thursday, February 3, 2011


The last two weeks of my writing life’s been difficult. If it’s not my relentless work schedule getting in the way, it’s my brain stumbling over words. Or, how do I describe this and that. Or, it’s sweetman sitting at the kitchen table clipping his nails or munching on chips loudly. Or, it’s No-No going off on one her hypochondriac rants. Or, it’s Honey Bear bringing his cat ball (loud bell inside), slamming it into my lap to play. Or, it’s sweetman stepping into another warm welcome from Sir-Poops-A-Lot---listening to his tantrums.

The following describes the other night at my house. Number five has a lot to do with the chaos I go through, I swear.

Shelly sat at her kitchen table around seven o’ clock. She’d cleaned the kitchen, walked her dogs, and made herself a cup of tea. It had been a long one at work and she’d anticipated this moment at her keyboards all day. A story for her next chapter chattered at her all day. She had to write.

Tinkletinkletinkle…Something small and noisy plopped in her lap. She moved her hand to grab it. A golf-sized ball. A cold, wet nose nudged at her hand. Honey Bear. He wanted to play ball.

Shelly rolled the ball into the living room where her hubby watched television.

The little cotton ball on four legs ran back to the kitchen table with his ball wanting his mommy to throw more.

She sighed, and said: “Honey, can you play with Honey Bear?”

Her hubby walked into her writing area. “Sure,” he said, picking up the fluff mound, turning around, he went up the stairs.

Shelly’s finger tips tapped the keyboards at first, warming up, and finally danced across them. Her mind raced back to her story file. “So much for a cup of tea,” Mel said into the air.

Someone stomped down the stairs.“Mom,” No-No said. “I think the doctor messed up my hip.”

Shelly looked up from her keyboards and watched her daughter plop into a chair across from her. She bugged her eyes at her daughter. “I’m working, right now".

“But I’m in pain. I think I’m going to be crippled for life,” her daughter said. Tears filled her eyes.

Shelly sucked in a gob of air and looked down at her computer screen. She can banter while I write, she thought. I can do two things at once. Her fingers pecked away again.A flicker of light floated behind her. Don walked toward her, a silhouette.

A crash sounded from upstairs. “He did it again!” her husband shouted from the stair top. “Where’s that dog? Where’s that dog?”

Shelly looked up from her keyboard and rolled her eyes.

“You don’t believe me!” No-No cried. “You don’t love me. You never did.” Snot dribbled down her daughter’s lips onto her chin.

Shelly didn’t respond and looked back at her keyboards. Her fingers raced across them. “It’ll be okay. You’ll see.” His free hand rested on her shoulder and he put the small votive on the counter in front of her.

An army of feet plodded down the stairs, human and animal. Sir Poops-A-Lot raced to his box. Shelly’s husband ran behind. “Bad dog!”

She breathed in and kept punching at the keyboards. She leaned back into his chest, warm and safe. The baby inside her stretched out for the evening’s slumber and she moved Don’s hand to her belly. “Do you feel that?”

“You’re a bad boy!” her husband shouted before he took a seat at the table. He went on and on about dog poop.

No-no went on and on about being crippled.

Shelly tried to get her story out while her family fussed over stuff. The inner and outer chatter didn’t mix. She exploded inside and both her hands slapped the table. “My writing is another job! Seriously!” she shouted.

Yup. Another day in the life of a writer.

Happy blogging, reading and writing!!



  1. Love this blog. It rings true for me as well.

  2. this sure is really crazy thing....its this much tiring and messed up...writing surely is another job..:)

  3. Hang in there, Shelly! I think a lot of folks have gotten snowed under (both literally and figuratively) this week. That's the beautiful thing about writing--it's always waiting for you when you have a quiet moment.

  4. I love this post. You candidly described the challenges of trying to write while living real life. What a classic piece. I instantly envisioned you continuing this kind of writing dialogue for a nonfiction book I think writers would thoroughly enjoy. You dispel the myth of the secluded novelist creating stories while looking out a large window onto waves crashing against the beach. Your crashing waves are of another sort. I love these musings of an aspiring writer trying to further her craft in the midst of the mayhem.

  5. @ Sogyel: Smiles to you. Hope you have a good night.

    @E.J.: Ho-hum...ho-hum...

    @Jodee: It's exactly what I go through in the evening.That's one reason why I'm so early in the morning. I try to avoid the family chaos as much as possible.

  6. I just recently went back to a WIP that I'd put on the back burner...I wasn't happy with the way it was going. I'd already started it going one way, then decided to make it go another...finally, I figured I needed to meld the two together. I'm just doing it now, trying to piece the two stories together...

    Hang in there...I know you'll get your project done.

  7. Oh sweets, I'm sorry that it has been chaotic over there. I wish you could find a little temple of serenity to worship (type) in to get some work done. It is so hard when you have a busy family. I can relate. Thanks for the post. How's no-no? She's not crippled for life is she?

  8. Wow -- that is one crazy night in your house. I am amazed you even managed to get two words typed out. Your multi-tasking skills are astounding!

  9. @ Beth: I'm hanging but it gets frustrating when my family doesn't take my writing seriously.

    @Regina: No-No has scheduled a massage session. This will be interesting.

    @Trisha: When my youngest was one I enrolled in college. McDonald's Play Place is where I did my homework.

  10. My sympathy...hang in were meant to write- while they were meant to make your life more interesting so you will have something to write about. :)

  11. @ Eve: Yes. Something my hubby would say.


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