This book…

This book…

This book…

It is killing me.

I’ve never gotten so emotionally connected to a novel before, never made myself cry before. I don’t like it, and I’m not sure it bodes well for the book, because I’m so attached I’m afraid I can’t be objective.  I feel like every nerve ending in my body is exposed. Last night I went to bed at 4 am. I don’t know exactly what it is I’ve written.

I feel like I did in grad school, when I lived and breathed poems, and holed up alone in a tiny apartment, and fought about language in bars with other poets,  and drank too much and cared too much and wandered the streets late at night too much, thinking too much.

Back then it was fun.  But you see,  those were poems and I was single and young.  I was supposed to be like that.

Now I’m a mom. Now I’m not supposed to wander around in my nightgown at 4 am, feeling melancholy.  I’m supposed to be asleep at 4 am, so I can get up and pack the  lunchboxes in the morning.


I will put this away until tomorrow. I will go and hug my awesome kids.

2 Responses to “This book…”

  1. Nicole Marie Schreiber Says:

    I understand where you are coming from. I have two kids, ages 2 and 5, and I stay up working on my WIP until 2am a couple of times a week. It’s exhausting mentally and physically. But I do it because I am very attached to my book and want to see it done, and the middle of the night is the only time for me to do it. When I do carve out some time during the day, sometimes it’s hard for me to get out the world of my story to go back and be in the “mommy world.” So hang in there!

  2. SolarCircleGirl Says:

    Even though I don’t have kids, I can relate to what you’re saying. I just went through about three months where I simply couldn’t write, and when I was writing, I felt like a phony. So I stopped. Okay, maybe not exactly the same thing, but I understand. Hug the kids, get a chocolate, drink a coffee, and let the thing breathe. And don’t forget to breathe yourself.

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