My favorite time to write is around 8:00 p.m., after the kids are in bed. The house is quiet. Peaceful. Finally. I creep downstairs, pour myself a big glass of water or mug of tea, or, OK, sometimes wine, and I turn off the overhead light in my office, leaving just the soft light of the lamp on. I crack open the window so I can feel a little fresh air on my skin, and maybe hear the sound of evening birds chirping their goodnights, and then I settle in to write. (Confession: I’m tired. Very tired. And instead of “write,” I just typed the word “right.”)
I’ve done this every night for, I don’t know, forever. Because of my nightly date with fiction, I’ve been able to publish a novel, sell a second, and make progress on a third—all with three wild children (and they are wild, very) in the house (ages 4, 2 and 3 months old!). To say it’s work would be a lie. I do this because I love it. Really love it. Life is too short to do things you don’t love. And while I’m not crazy about the writing process 100 percent of the time, I’m so passionate about writing stories that it actually feels like playtime when I sneak off to my office each night.
Yes, this schedule means I don’t have much of a life. I wash off all my makeup and change into my PJs at 7:30 every night while friends of mine actually leave their homes and, I don’t know, do things! I’m OK with that. For this season of my life, I’m a busy mom and a busy writer working to establish herself. And I’m having a lot of fun at both. I’ll hit the town again—someday.