So the wife (an architect) has been working long hours lately trying to get a big project together before its upcoming deadline. That means it’s just been me, Boy 1 (3 1/2), and Boy 2 (11 months) at home, all day, every day.† Despite having to feed, clean and amuse two young boys solo, I’ve done pretty well over the last couple weeks of getting back into the groove of writing. I just broke 10,000 words on my latest effort yesterday, but more importantly I’ve started feeling the urge to write — the furor scribendi — that I remember from writing and re-writing my first novel 18 years ago. It’s the feeling that, when you’re not writing, you need to be. It’s not a guilt thing so much as a feeling of something missing. Kind of like knowing you walked into the room for something specific, or that you were going to say something. That kind of nagging-at-the-edge-of-your-consciousness that there’s something . . . but you can’t quite put your finger on it. It’s that sort of sensation, except you know what’s missing: you need to be writing.
So anyway, the wife is home for the Labor Day weekend. That means I finally get a couple days with plenty of time for writing, right? Ha. When it’s just me and the boys, while Boy 2 is taking his morning nap I can make Boy 1 play outside or quietly in the other room and focus on my story. And, in the afternoon while they both nap, I can completely leave the real world.
The wife, though, talks to me and actually expects an answer. And I can’t tell her to go away and be quiet (well, I could in theory, but I enjoy life with functional limbs and digits). Worst of all, though, she can read the words on my computer screen. When the 3 1/2-year-old comes jabbering into the office, I can tune the jabbering out long enough to finish my thought. When my wife walks in, I don’t have that luxury because I have to minimize StoryBox (my writing program) right away so she can’t read anything. Maybe it’s ridiculous, but I simply can’t stand anyone reading what I’ve written until it’s in something approaching finished form.
Not only do I have to stop writing anytime she walks in the room, she doesn’t take a nap. With the boys, I can count on at least three or four hours, split between morning and afternoon, that I’ll have for writing.‡
I don’t want to give the wrong impression: my wife fully supports my writing. And has exaggerated ideas of how successful I’ll be. But in practice, she makes it almost impossible to get into a good writing groove. So I’m in the odd position of enjoying the relaxing three-day weekend with my boys and beloved, but also wanting it to go by faster.
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† Since Boy 1′s birth I’ve gradually transitioned from work-at-home research attorney to full-time stay-at-home dad with an occasional hobby of writing legal memoranda and briefs.
‡ Housework? What’s that?
