Juiced On Writing

NaNoWriMo – the month of craziness, insanity, tiny ups, and plummetting downs. Week 4, and only 4 days to go before I’m out of this hell hole.

So, with only one chapter / three scenes / 10,000 words to go, why take a day off? I could be writing, I should be writing – this is pure craziness. I could be sipping that glass of champagne in another few hours. I should be sipping that glass of champagne in another few hours.

Um, yeah.

Part of it is this (links to other blog entry elsewhere), some problems in being a mother with a daughter who’s suffering through a few problems at school this week. I’ve lost copious sleep over it, and rather pointlessly really. But that’s what mothers are for, right?

Part of it is other committments, even simple things like this blog, and even clearing out my gmails. All of them have been let slip over the past ten days, and yes – they could wait one more day, but…

Most of it is this -

Yesterday I pushed out 12,000 words, and another full chapter. The penultimate chapter to my novel. I spent all day doing it, couldn’t stop myself. My daughter dropped me a note – literally, I really do mean that – she wrote the note on a notepad, and dropped it onto my lap while I ate my dinner that night. It went something like this (only with spelling errors) -

“Mummy is always on her computer, and won’t play with me. I can sometimes play with Daddy, and sometimes with Mummy. Even though she’s always on the computer, I love to play with Mummy and Daddy.”

Now, having brought me to guilt-ridden tears (and I’d spent hours with her playing over the weekend also), I looked into it a little more. It was a cry out for help because of some playground problems – with playing ironically, at school.

And as a fultime author one day (touch wood), I wouldn’t allow that kind of guilt to get in the way of my working practices. I only wrote until 5:00pm, for Pete’s sake. But I’m not. I’m a mother, part-time worker, and part-time writer at the moment, and that’s the order my daughter expects it (and understandably so).

But still, she had a small point. And had prodded the guilt bone quite well enough. I had worked on my novel until five o’clock yesterday, alright. Worked 9 to 5, with bearly a break to get a cup of coffee or pick up sad daughter from school.

That’s because – I was into it, flying…never stop a trapeze artist when they’ve halfway across, without a net, yeah? I wanted to explain, but no six year old is going to accept that.

And oddly – now that I’m so close, so excited to being about to write the final chapter, and I find that I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to stop writing. I want to enjoy it for every last second. I want – to prolong the ending just a tiny bit longer. Perhaps tomorrow then, maybe Friday. Then I can savour it with all the sweetness it deserves.

In the meantime, I’ll catch up with other things.

These posts may also be of interest:

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