>I don’t write fast. Quite frankly, I wish I did. I’m in awe of some of the writers whose blogs I read, especially one in particular who has turned out two novel drafts in the time it’s taken me to write a third of Sable Locks. But there’s a reason I don’t write fast.
He’s three and a half years old. He’ll start school in the fall, if we ever master this whole potty-training thing, but until then, my writing is in the hours after he goes to bed. Especially since he a) doesn’t nap anymore, b) can see my laptop even if its on the kitchen counter, and b) can sound out words. I’m not ready to have that discussion with him. Not at three. I’m already imagining the fun that we’re going to have on Parent-Teacher nights.
“Oh, Mrs. Schechter, so nice to meet you. Tell me, what is it that you do?”
“I’m a writer.”
You know what the next question will be: “What do you write?”
Now, I suppose I could give them the bullshit answer: “I write fictional accounts of the homoerotic interplay between sentient humanoids and their mechanical constructs.” Which sounds a heck of a lot more impressive than “I write steampunk erotica.” But with my luck, I might just get the rare teacher in our county who actually knows how to think and who understand words of more than one syllable.*
I also think I won’t get a lot of invites to speak on Career Day. This is, after all, the DEEP South.
So, most of my day is focused on my boy, which is as it should be.
And now you know why it takes so long to get a book out of me.
*I’m not knocking teachers. I was one myself once. A LONG time ago. So I know first hand that teachers of high caliber don’t tend to last long in the public school system. The pay isn’t good enough to keep them. And since the private schools around here are all religious, with very few, very EXPENSIVE exceptions, our boy is going to attend public school. With home-schooling around the edges to pick up the slack. I want my son to be able to count to more than first-and-ten.
