I swear there is nothing more irritating than having two whole days and nights ALONE in a house, no distractions, no kids, no boyfriend, and have monumental writer’s block. It’s not funny.
I am at least a month behind on my book on divorcing with children. The first several chapters were a breeze, as I had a punch list of all the VERY IMPORTANT THINGS that people never tell you but will say, “oh, yeah, you are so right about that,” when you mention it later. It’s like pregnancy, only worse. Your kids won’t remember what you blundered through while pregnant or giving birth. They will remember every little detail about a divorce. And they will never be the details you think will stick. They will blindside you decades later. You will think that a certain insecurity is due to one thing, when in fact it was due to something totally different and perhaps something you could have FIXED if you only knew. It’s maddening.
I feel like each chapter is being peeled off my skin in one continuous strip, so long that I think I can’t possibly function with that much laid bare. And what’s worse, my editor (MOM), will cut it into little pieces and throw away what you thought was surely an artery and if you knew she was going to cut it out you would never have handed it to her in the first place, and your circulation would be that much more intact. But then you re-read when she’s finished and wonder how you could have thought that so much needed to be peeled off to shape your point.
Each chapter leaves me drained and melancholy, which is really weird, because when I begin I’m all wired and excited and have the clearest vision of what will help others going through divorce. As I write, it flows and suddenly I see that word limit light flashing red in the corner of my eye and I struggle to wrap it up so I won’t have to see so much of my skin on the cutting room floor. On the one hand, I want to include as much as possible so that the important things are covered, but on the other hand it’s very hard to hear Mom in my head, typing HA! as she shaves off a couple hundred words. Or six hundred. That one hurt.
So, I’m going to call it a day, having birthed only one chapter. I’ve done as many as four in a day, three in one sitting, but not today. I think I need to be alone to concentrate, but the truth is that I need my children nearby to kick-start that mom-speak and mom-thought so that I can be as clear and concise as I need to be. My kids won’t listen if I drone on and on without getting to a point, so why should you?
Um, I’ll end here. I hear wine and Netflix calling.
P.S. Mom, I hit “Publish” without even re-reading this. HA!