Aren’t writers suppose to, you know, write?

I really admire those writers out there who faithfully sit down at their desk the same time every day and pound out, say, a thousand words. Wow! Good for you! I just have one question: Are you independently wealthy?

Do you have a housekeeper,a gardener, a nanny, and a secretary all on retainer because your sugar daddy (or mamma) keep them all paid, so all you have to do is write?

If you are sensing just a smidge of bitterness, there’s a reason for it. I have 4 different part time jobs this month. Four! And those are just the jobs with a W2’s attached to them. I also help the hubby juggle all the bills for our small business, the rental property, and our home. Oh yeah, and I have that whole silly book marketing thing to do too.

Book 3 is just about ready to be completely launched on this site, but this site’s not enough. I need a Facebook page. I redesigned the cover for Book 3, so Book 1 and 2 need new covers to update the branding of the whole series. I have two readings this month. I don’t have any for November. I need to call people again and set up appearance dates.

And household chores? Ha! Laundry gets done when the dirty pile next to the bed starts to block the door. Cat boxes get cleaned out when the basement can no longer be entered without gagging. When the dust bunnies on the floor start to develop into recognizable creatures, a broom might be utilized.

And yet, somewhere in this morass that is my life, I do manage to write. It’s rarely the same time every day, and it might only be a quickly penned idea, but it happens and it’s selfishly all mine. At this point I’ll take what I can get. Someone go fetch my housekeeper and tell her the cat puked on the rug again. Oh yeah…I forgot… Sigh…

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