OK, here's the thing. Well, the first thing, anyway: I say "Here's the thing" too often. I know because Robert has chosen it as his favorite preamble for demurral:
Me: Robert, it's time to brush your teeth.
Him: Yeah, well, here's the thing, Daddy. I don't think my teeth will need brushing again until I am four and a half.
At least his reasons are becoming more creative. Evidence of a shrewd mind destined to keep me on my toes.
Here's the second thing: I’ve become dismayed by my writing process, such as it is. I dum-dee-dum off to work each day, ideas pop into my head, I jot them down. Later, I look at what I’ve written and decide that nothing is funny, nor will any of it coalesce into anything writeworthy. I feel like I’m building a railroad trestle out of Q-tips.
The unavoidable truths are that 1) writing is a lonely exercise; and 2) a man with a job and a wife and two high-energy boyspawn is rarely alone. Writing opportunities don’t come until after everything is dark and the evil force of Mattress Gravity is so strong. I got really excited the other day, when I was home alone, during the day, in a house that had just been cleaned.
My excite-o-meter needs some serious recalibrating.
So what do we do? We adopt, adapt, and improve. We decide that writing is the important task right now, and that we will find ways to shoehorn writing time into our daily grind. We resolve to post more often and fight the urge to over-write and over-edit. We refer to ourselves in the first person plural, perhaps to convince ourself that we are E. B. White, and it is 1931.
I'm happy to say that a lot of summer projects have come my way, and that I am grateful for the luxury of circumspection. My near-term goal is to be as prolific as possible, and hope that volume does not dilute the product.
We'll see where I am when Robert is four and a half, and once again deigns to pursue dental hygiene without a fight.