No sausage yet
I don’t know if there is such a thing as a typical writer’s life; I doubt it. I am the only one I know who has trouble writing on weekends, though. I didn’t get any pages written on Affairs this weekend, for all the usual weekend reasons:
* I was catching up on my sleep, which I can’t seem to get a full quota of during the school week.
* When all my people are in the house, I try to remember to enjoy their company. Daniel in particular will be living under this roof for little more than a year; I’ve got to enjoy the incidental, no-stakes encounters while I can.
* We tend to plan and eat meals that require a significant amount of time in the kitchen on weekends, largely because I am not the only one coming up with food ideas. I lose hours to this activity, but we all enjoy it. (And frankly it’s a change of pace from my current first-book-release-ever freneticism, which results in catch-as-catch-can meals.)
* Laundry. It’s inevitable, it’s weekly, it’s a time-sink.
* When Mark is home for hours on end, he reminds me of all the responsibilities I have outside my study and office. I tend to spend time on things that otherwise get ignored.
At any rate, now it is Monday morning, and the quiet descends. It’s time to write. Unfortunately, another thing that frequently happens to me when I’ve been away from the ms. for too long is that I begin to feel anxious–as if I might somehow have forgotten how to write in the interim. So I will have to spend a bit of time easing myself back into the story before flow sets in.
Tomorrow will be better in this regard.