There’s a peculiar scenario that has played out in my life over the years. Whenever I am at the computer, my back to the door, and my mind fierce with words that need to get out — my husband shows up and says things that make me feel guilty for writing.
Granted, I don’t think he intends for me to feel this way, but I do when he says things such as:
(Holding puppy or child) “Don’t worry, mom’s going to get off the computer and play with you.”
“Are you going to be on the computer all night? I want you to take care of yourself.”
I’m sure there are many more lines like this that I’ve shoved under the brain fart rug, but you get the deal (and no doubt have similar tales to tell).
My response is usually defensive, because writing IS taking care of myself, even though it makes me tired to stay up at night to do such a thing to myself. But even when I spend the entire day with the aforementioned puppy and/or child, it seems like it’s not enough and that I should eliminate the small block of time I have to do what I do.
But don’t worry because that won’t happen. I’m too stubborn and selfish to give away my writing time, unless someone is sick or there’s a crisis in my living room. As long as I understand why I write, there will be time.