Writing on Empty and Loving Them Anyway

 

Morning everyone. How was everyone’s weekend? Did you get everything you wanted to get done with the back-to-school season here and the first day approaching like a freight train? I know I made a dent in the massive to-do list. Though if you were to look at my house, it wouldn’t look like it. School supplies are everywhere, school clothes (that took us four stores to find) are still in bags with tags, and I still haven’t found all the Gremlin’s missing socks.   

This is what a two day count down looks like, when you happen to be the only one doing it. Because God knows, all the promises made by the other half went unfulfilled. Which leaves me holding the bag of tricks praying that the rabbit pops out at just the right time with the mantra of “I’ll handle it, I always do.” 

For the tired and mentally exhausted momma, who can’t seem to do anything but keep it together, we throw our boots on and hit the world running at full force. We make sure the school bags are packed, the clothes are clean, and the shoes are right where they need to be. It’s not fun. It’s stressful and by all standards, slightly mind numbing. 

And then while I’m knee deep in laundry, school forms, and general chaos from home life, My Muse Decided to Open the Gates… Now Everyone is Screaming Pick Me all at once. Which after weeks, entire fucking weeks of silence, this should be a great thing. It isn’t though. Because telling them to wait their damn turn could result in revolt once again. 

So, here I sit with a red bull, cigarette, and what was left of my salinity from Sunday. Gremlin is still asleep on the couch. Hubby is sitting at the table watching something on his phone, when he should be in bed for his shift tonight. Laundry is going, dishes will be started in a few minutes, and I found a few minutes of quiet to attempt to write this post to get back on track with the blog. 

But this always happens when I’m least prepared. Those moments when I’m drowning in laundry, trying to find a clean fork or spoon, the Gremlin either won’t sleep or sleeps well past wake up call, and I’m a solid week behind on sleep myself. That's when my muse decides to kick in the damn door like a drama queen on a caffeine bender. Holding a half drank iced coffee, sing songing “We have some sketchy shit to do.” While I’m praying for 5 more minutes, that never seems to come. 

All of a sudden, in piles no less than twelve characters I’ve never seen before in my life. A dozen more characters from current WIPs, but that decided I offended them in some way, so they stopped talking a few months back, and a few loose cats that I swear weren’t here the last time shit went down. All before the caffeine has half assed hit my sole, let alone my body.

Now, I have characters talking over each other. Plot twists flying around like this is a damn airport. A side character I killed off two years ago, is now demanding a redemption arc. Another one is threatening to kiss the villain from a different story/ plot line. And I’m just here, staring at my screen, trying to keep up like I’m live-translating chaos.

I asked for inspiration, not a full blown riot.

But that’s the deal, isn’t it? You don’t get to pick when the story shows up. You just have to decide if you’re gonna answer the door or pretend you’re not home. So yeah, one of my muses has opened the gates. Everyone is screaming. I’m tired. Hundred thousand things to do. And I swear I just saw one of the personalities running with scissors. If that’s not the writer's life, I don’t know what is.

Welcome to Monday…. I’ll servive… I always do… 

The main thing is if you're feeling like this. You’re so not alone. This is the start of a normalish week. Where we just hope to have all our fingers, toes, and nose still attached come Friday. So, take a breath, drink some water, and nibble on something. 

I’m off to fold laundry and get some editing done… If the Muse doesn’t hand me another story idea.

Remember: Be Brave, Be Bold, But Always Stay Humble.