Week #8: Writing broken
When you want to write and there’s an almost-four-year-old underfoot, there are a number of things you could do:
- tuck it under one arm and deposit it in the next room; it might come back, so you’ll need to shut the door;
- turn on the TV to distract it;
- lock your door;
- leave the house.
The trouble is:
- first, they’re extremely wriggly and can be difficult to tuck under the arm; second, they come back and are now able to open doors; even if you lock it, they can pound very loudly and scream your name, so the neighbours start wondering if you’ve fallen in the bathroom and hit your head;
- they come back and pound on the door and call your name loudly (they have very loud voices);
- they pound on the door and call your name;
- you get heartbroken at the thought of them going around the house pounding on doors and calling your name.
What I’m trying to say is, my two novels in progress, which I’m supposed to finish on this current writing break, are getting nowhere. Other small-child-related obstacles to overcome include:
- my promotion to the coveted position of new best friend (this is usually temporary and I’m likely to get booted down in a day or two);
- an incredible fascination with my laptop whenever I sit down to work, including its low-tech (read non-touch-responsive) screen;
- the compulsory requirement to answer the question “What are you doing?” every ten seconds.
A couple of days ago, I tweeted:
… which, of course, is not an option. Thus, I stepped out to spend a couple of hours in a cafe to catch up on my writing. Instead, I find myself still distracted by aforementioned almost-four-year-old.
The thing is, even though it sounds like I’m moaning, it’s really highly entertaining being around a tiny human—even for someone like me who’s wary of little kids. Here’s what I’ve learnt in the past two days:
- the names of all the characters in Cars;
- the names of various characters in… sorry to say… Barbie;
- how to make almost anything out of Lego as long as your imagination allows;
- cake is only cake if it’s chocolate cake (this is where I know we share some genes).
There’s no way to say if I’ll really finish either of my novels in the next two weeks, but I’m getting the feeling I should whip out a notebook and start taking notes, for there is a live new story unfolding before my eyes. At the risk of running afoul of the sibling, of course…