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This happens when the child’s vacation coincides with one’s own. “Mom? Whatcha doin’?” Mom explains the four pages per day plan, so daughter gets out her laptop to monkey see, monkey do. And writes. A story. She’s hit her four pages. Don’t ask about my progress. We’ve been at this all day, with her reading to me every time she finishes a paragraph.
She’s writing about a war between robots and fairies, though she thinks she may drop the fairies and go with a war between robots and humans. Her protagonist’s name is Gilda. Ah the workings of the subconscious after seeing Rigoletto.
But I write on my bed-desk, and she’s sitting right beside me, writing away on her dad’s side of the bed. It feels… invasive. I should express pride, and I am proud, but I’m also private. I like to write alone and in the quiet. I like to think I won’t have to censor myself because a child might (will) glance over at my screen.
Why don’t I chase her out of here? Because if she wants to write, there’s no way I’ll do anything to threaten that impulse. She stays.
However, I’m doing some good outlining and character sketching, so… production. Okay. And I can outlast her. She’ll get put to bed eventually.
Don't ask about the man in the living room practicing his trumpet while the football game blasts in the background.
What distractions? I eat distractions for breakfast.
ETA: Hurray! She's wandered off to bug her dad, and I've anagrammed a character name. Much fun.
ETA: Mission accomplished 4 hours earlier than yesterday. 4 pages done, and painlessly once child occupied herself elsewhere. Character from an older story reconceived and with that character perhaps the story as well. We'll see. Writing feels fun again tonight.
She’s writing about a war between robots and fairies, though she thinks she may drop the fairies and go with a war between robots and humans. Her protagonist’s name is Gilda. Ah the workings of the subconscious after seeing Rigoletto.
But I write on my bed-desk, and she’s sitting right beside me, writing away on her dad’s side of the bed. It feels… invasive. I should express pride, and I am proud, but I’m also private. I like to write alone and in the quiet. I like to think I won’t have to censor myself because a child might (will) glance over at my screen.
Why don’t I chase her out of here? Because if she wants to write, there’s no way I’ll do anything to threaten that impulse. She stays.
However, I’m doing some good outlining and character sketching, so… production. Okay. And I can outlast her. She’ll get put to bed eventually.
Don't ask about the man in the living room practicing his trumpet while the football game blasts in the background.
What distractions? I eat distractions for breakfast.
ETA: Hurray! She's wandered off to bug her dad, and I've anagrammed a character name. Much fun.
ETA: Mission accomplished 4 hours earlier than yesterday. 4 pages done, and painlessly once child occupied herself elsewhere. Character from an older story reconceived and with that character perhaps the story as well. We'll see. Writing feels fun again tonight.
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I posted pictures. *points to LJ*