Ah, it’s been a long time. Too long. It’s because of the kryptonite – well, let me explain.
I’ve always been proud of the fact that I’m one tough broad. Far too tough, in fact, to be laid out by anything. No matter what happened to me, even after the death of my parents, I was able to pick myself up, dust myself off and do what I needed to do. No exceptions. Until I had kids, that is.
At first my kids were time consumers. They needed a lot of my time and I had very little left for writing. I dressed them, fed them, played with them. You know the drill. It was a bit frustrating to have so little time for writing but I knew that what I was doing was far more important. As they got older they gave up their time consuming ways. They became energy consumers. Their problems, miseries and joys colored my days. My focus rose and fell on what was going on in their lives. They took less time away from my writing but I found I wrote even less than I did when they were small.
And then came the kryptonite. My teenagers have more complex lives and, consequently, more complex needs. They consume time and energy. But it’s more than that. I find my heart soars and plummets based on whatever is going in their lives. Whether it’s my driven, goal-oriented teen or my troubled, marches to her own drummer teen I find the same truth holds. The emotional kryptonite lays me out like nothing ever has before and my work has suffered.
Now, is the point of this post to have my own public pity party? Fun idea – but, no. I actually have a point. Yell “help” as loud as you can. That’s what I did. I have the greatest husband in the world and, when he realized how I was floundering he lightened my load. Also, my LitSisters are fantastic women. Several have children in different stages than mine. They also have ideas. And sisterhood. And commiseration. So I’m back to blogging. I’m also starting a new novel while still marketing Poles Apart.
So ask for help. Don’t wait as long as I did, keeping your upset to yourself.