“All you ever do is write!” My computer denies this accusation from my son. I’m having trouble remembering my last short story submission; doesn’t matter, I’m expecting another round of rejections soon. I’m afraid to look at the “last modified” date on my novel – poor thing, can novels die of neglect? My poor blog has been suffering from pathetic re-posts of articles first published elsewhere. Watch out, I’m about to do it again. And my dining room table is currently covered in a canvas desert island – backdrop for the school auction.
I’m not sure what I’m spending my time doing, but it doesn’t seem to be writing. Is an hour a day, an hour carved from the pre-dawn remainder of the night, an hour in which everyone else is sleeping really inordinate? Or, is he objecting to the moments on weekends or after school when I attempt to polish a paragraph, send off and e-mail, or do a quick internet search between loads of laundry, glasses of milk, finding paper towels for spilled milk, and refereeing generalized living room warfare?
On the other hand, he may have a point. It’s not as though my writing is neglected because I’m such a wonderful housekeeper – how long has that load been in the wash? I’m pretty sure I haven’t sent a follow-up e-mail on the status of the second grade auction project. The children seem to be well fed, but this week is flying by without a menu plan or shopping list. I’d like to claim a lack of productivity in my personal life due to the overwhelming demands of work, but I’m not sure that yesterday’s 4 goats and a horse were really all that burdensome. Where does the time go?
I’m going with the Star Trek theory – obviously, I am the victim of an insidious wormhole-parallel universe-evil alien mastermind-supreme intelligence-matter/antimatter convergence-plot. It’s really the only explanation.
So, since I don’t seem to be getting anything done, enjoy this interview with Sascha Rothchild, previously posted on Blogcritics.org. See, I warned you. Blame the Romulans!