Well, I tried it (it being NaNoWriMo) but it wasn’t meant to be. November started off so full of promise, with the kids taking nice, long, coinciding naps that gave me lovely long stretches of time during which to write. I made it a little over 15,000 words into my novel before my kids realized what I was doing and started being a little less possible.
Ah, well. I gave it a try, had some fun, and will hopefully be back to revisit the story again someday in the near future. I keep telling myself that this time in my life where I have two very small children and very little rest is a passing season, that there will come a time when their needs are less frequent and they will be away at school all day, and it makes me content to wait.
So I catalog my ideas and inspirations. I scheme while I’m changing diapers and cooking meals. Daydreaming while nursing, plotting while folding laundry, this is my life right now.
When I return to writing, and by writing I mean sitting down to write with reason to believe I’ll actually be able to finish whatever project I start, I think all this pent-up creativity is going to explode out and I dearly hope I’ll need to sop up all my ideas with reams and reams of pages printed with my words.
Until then? Well, I guess I’ll just have to keep thinking up really thrilling stories to tell my kids at bedtime.