I figured writing while pregnant would be a little different. Of course typing with a numb hand (baby decided to settle on a nerve) has proven to be difficult. Trying to find a position to type in that doesn’t kill my shoulder hasn’t been a picnic either (again, baby curled up right on top of a nerve). But there have been some other things I’ve noticed that I didn’t expect.
- I’ll find myself typing away when suddenly the fantasy of me yelling at the last person to ask me if I was sure I wasn’t having twins will pop into my head, followed by an ultimately unfulfilled promise to myself that the next person to do so will get punched in the throat. Maybe my characters will end up with more pent up aggression as a result. I guess we will see in book four.
- As I’m sitting here writing this, I have been pulled away at least 3 times by the adorable yet manipulative faces of our two dogs. I believe I have shared their pictures before, but just in case:
Now don’t judge me, dear readers. you know you would have a hard time resisting those precious little faces too. But I’m realizing that if I can’t learn to say no to my fur babies, I’m going to have just as hard a time saying no to my human baby. Probably more so, because eventually she will be able to talk back. The time to take control back is now, before my computer is covered with finger paint and my characters are forever stuck in rough draft limbo. If I’m going to be the best mother I can be, I need to be the best person I can be, and that involves creating worlds and stories. So while I do it for myself, I also do it for them.
I’m sure I’ll think of more little tidbits, dear readers, but for now, I leave you with a question. How have your children affected your writing, routine, content, or otherwise?
Last night, my fantastic husband took me to see my absolute favorite movie of all time: Jurassic Park (the 3D version is EPIC by the way). It was the movie that made me love movies, and the movie I have hands down watched more than any other. Seeing it again made me realize that there is always going to be a little part of me that still wants to dig up dinosaurs. Though most of me wants to be a writer, the nine-year-old-wide-eyed kid that is still in here wonders what it would be like to, with brush in hand, unearth something piece by piece that existed millions of years ago. The magic of that movie will never be gone for me, and I can’t wait to have our kids watch it some day (and, I’ll confess, there will never be a time where I don’t tear up just a little when they see the brachiosaurus for the first time…call me corny, I can take it…the score is unbelievable!). So my question to you, dear reader, is what does your inner nine-year-old still want to be? Are you the accountant who would love to go into space? Or the interior designer who loves sharks? I want to hear about your little pieces. And for those of you who are writers out there, how do the little pieces help you with your writing?