Juggling reading, writing, editing, submitting, promotions, and event times is one of my favorite circus acts. I love playing the clown. I’m good at it, mostly.

Life does like to interfere though. I in the process of buying a house, won another writing award, my dad had 2 back-to-back heart attacks, one of the kiddos is sick, oh and just because I like to add spice to every adventure, we adopted a new puppy. Sure, why not? haha

I’m also about to enter the third trimester of my third pregnancy. Clearly I’m not good at holding still.

I read a passage in a Daniel Clowes autobiographical graphic-ish book about how his mother was never one to sit still so sitting down to write made up stories never occurred to her. I myself am some weird extreme between both worlds.

I never wanted to be a writer. It wasn’t something I even considered a career option. I love hiking, swimming, running around in circles chasing after butterflies, and enjoying as many crazy experiences as possible. But at the end of the day, my brain needs more. Physical activity and exploration satisfies the body and some mental curiosity, but rapid thought plagues me and I have to do something with the whirlwind of ideas that come out when I get some time to relax.

Unfortunately time to relax doesn’t come easy. So where do I find writing time? I sneak it wherever I can. While I’m waiting at the DMV, at 3am when I pop awake with a story that refuses to sleep, at the dinner table when my kids demand I come up with an outlandish tale. However you can quell the storytelling urge must be accomplished.

The writer’s guilt is bad right now. I keep beating myself up for not writing enough and yet I’ve started a new children’s book, nearly finished a non-fiction response piece for the sake of my daughter, squeezed out a silly poem about a sock (I don’t do serious, everything is beautiful poems-yuck!), and edited and submitted more work.

It’s the Friday before the big move. Our days stuck in an apartment sharing walls with neighbors are numbered. The freedom of being about to scream and shout if I feel like it will push the pulse of my writing faster. I know myself and what I’m capable of (finally).

It’s just getting there. The waiting sucks. I always say: Take my money but don’t take my time. I can always sell something, but I’m not going to live forever. On the flip side, LIVING matters haha

If any of you are punishing yourselves for not doing enough, STOP IT! Right now.

Rushing never produced anything but slop. Writers have to obtain a certain amount of faith in the future. Our words will either make it to the publisher, or they won’t. Getting them out is the first step, yes, but if they’re going to reach a reader there’s a long road to follow.

I hope to meet you along the way.

Enjoy it while you can.