I'm tired. Exhausted really. My Hero's out of town and that means I go to bed late. Way too late. When he's gone for a few days or more, I get a grip and put myself to bed at a relatively normal hour after the first day or two. But the first night he's gone? I stay up stalking blogs, watching HGTV, wondering what to snack on, and telling myself how stupid I am for not climbing in between the sheets because I will so regret it in the morning. And of course I'm right. I'm always right. (I regretted it in a big way this morning!)
I am totally going to bed at a decent hour tonight. Oh wait, no I'm not! My Writing Group is meeting tonight. Here. And we don't even start until all of our little ones are slumbering, so we often end our discussions and editing sessions way too close to the midnight hour. But we've gotta do what we've gotta do.
So my something today? I'm writing. (Well, obviously it's because I have WG tonight. I heard you.) But whatever. The point is . . . I'm writing. And you know the whole saga - I want it all done right now and so I panic and stew about how long I've been working on this project, and then all my thoughts of failure (in the past and future possibilities waiting to embarrass me) paralyze me from working on it at all. But not today! (Oh, except I'm stalling by writing this). I've been reminding myself of my mantra . . . "I don't have to do it all. I just have to do something!" So I'm snuggling with my Little One, clad only in undies (her, not me) and am typing away. Slowly. 'Cause I write slowly. Can't help it, just do. Occasionally, the words burst out of me, but usually it's just a slow trickle. That's fine, I guess, as long as the pot eventually gets filled up. Hopefully before I'm 80.
I'm not going to tell you what I'm writing. Not ready to be so open with you all yet. Not ready to hear the murmurs or the uninterested "that's nice." Not ready to be so presumptious as to think I can announce that I am writing something I want to see published. Even though I do. And I guess I did just announce that. But I will tell you this. This book I'm working on is heart-wrenching. It's making me dig deep and confront stuff inside me. It makes me cry every time I plunk away on the keyboard. It makes me want to avoid it 'cause it hurts. It makes me wonder (well, not really) why it's so important to me to write it all down. And I'm hoping that I'll come up with some more cheerful chapters soon, but so far I'm disappointing myself on that front.
But whatever. The point is: I want to write a book. I want it finished now. But I can't ('cause I have a life, a husband, and six children - and I'm really tired) and so I just have to do it in bits. So today I am (because I'm really too exhausted to get up and tackle the laundry pile and think of something for dinner). But it doesn't matter the motivation . . . I am doing something.