Last night, Dhonielle and I were putting the final touches on our revision of Book Two, due today (or really, due yesterday but who’s counting?), when it happened.
At just about 11 p.m., the pipe under the dishwasher broke, flooding the building’s communal basement. And our neighbors knocked and fretted and a plumber crawled out of his warm, cozy bed (I’m presuming, of course) to make a midnight housecall. All while I was trying to wrap up edits and not wake the baby, who was teething and had been running a 102 fever.
Fun times I tell ya. But in my writerly life, it seems about par for the course. I recall the night before we actually turned in the first draft for Book Two, for example. The baby had a fever then, too — his first — and boy, was it a doozy. So I stayed up till the wee hours, finishing things up as he slept on my lap. Going back even further, to grad school, I recall countless four a.m. writing sessions with my other little one, now five, snuggled up next to me in the bed, her little snores keeping time like the ticking clock in my head.
You know how they say youth is wasted on the young? I think they should add an amendment: time is wasted on the young. Not as in time spent with the littles is wasted. I don’t mean that at all. I just think back to all that time I wasted when I was young — working 70 hour weeks, hanging out with the same friends having the same night over and over again, eating out or dancing in clubs or doing nothing much at all. If I had known how hard this whole balance thing gets when you have commitments like writing and work and family, man, I probably would have thought twice about whiling away all those endless hours. Or maybe not. Maybe it takes being busy and trying so hard to achieve that balance to give you that drive, that burning desire to make things happen.
In any case, the revision is done. And soon there’ll be another one. Plus a WIP or ten looming. The plumber will be back later today. I’ve got a phoner happening at 3, and a few pending freelance projects that need to be taken care of. And the baby is feeling much better, hanging out in his favorite little red convertible at daycare. Tonight, the Mini-Me and I have big plans to cozy up and dive back into the Whatever After book we picked up at the bookstore last week. So that whole balance thing? I think I’m getting there. Or maybe a happy chaos is close enough.