May is a frenzied time of year in Chicago. It heralds spring rains and a return to twice-weekly lawn mowing. It also guarantees a month's worth of end-of-the-year school activities.
Concerts, recitals, and plays times three active girls mean lots less time at home. Less time at home means less butt-in-chair time. At least that's how my inner critic sees it.
I imagine my inner critic as a cross between a raven and a cobra. During high stress times and months like May, it takes up residence in my head. Eyes blazing, hood unfurled, it coils around its perch, flutters shredded wings, and notices we'll be eating off paper plates again if I don't get to the dishes. It cackles as I don my second-to-the-last pair of clean underwear. As I'm working on revisions to KM, it snickers at the weeds taking over the garden.
Why even bother? it coos. Why neglect these things for a "hobby?"
Why? Because writing is not a hobby, it's my life. It keeps me centered and sane, and it keeps you leashed.
On deck this week: Crit group meets tomorrow. The timing couldn't be better for muzzling this beast.
Current read: A Great and Terrible Beauty by Libba Bray.
Appetite for writing: Eager to continue my write-through of KM.
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