Hello blog world! Okay, so I’ve been writing–we covered this–and it’s been going well, until now. Yesterday, my writing was interrupted with the sounds of kids crying, of laughter as they beat each other with plastic light sabers that my wonderful mother thought would be an amazing gift for Christmas–beating sticks. There was the distinct sound of toys falling, of drinks spilling. The tugs of little hands as they demanded for the fiftieth time that hour that I feed them.
Following? I thought so.
So, when I was at the pinnacle part where my main heroine and love interest are reminiscing their pasts, divulging their secrets and validating their touch-and-go feelings, it was then that I noticed the state of the house, and more importantly, the state of my children.
I had been gone nearly all day. Lost to the world of romance and of desperately badass heroines taking down their love interest’s barriers bit by bit. I hadn’t been listening, and certainly not supervising the little monsters that live in my house.
My dream weekend of writing skidded to a halt. I spent the entire rest of the day picking up the pieces of my destroyed home. My children, who laughed and played around me, would never understand this continuous struggle between my created world and my real one.
My two oldest–the main perpetrators–stand here, happily antagonizing me with their cuteness. So, while I have to spend my days picking up after the days I lose myself to my writing world, they’re worth it even though they drive me crazy.