Children and writing

24 09 2007

Tuesday 2pm.

House in order.

Children fed.

Dinner… plenty of time to think about that later. Give thanks to microwave defrosting.

Bills paid. All phone calls made. Arrangements made. Etc. etc.

Now. Time to write.

Just check that children are still playing happily in backyard. Check.

Sit at computer. Open up file. Think. Conjure image of scene I’m about to write. (Constipated expression settles onto face.)

But hark, what’s that? Is it a squeal (as in fun), or a scream (as in trouble)?

Scream reaches blood curdling crescendo.

Run to backyard. Pluck child from pool (not too bad so far), see blood, see gaping hole in head (okay, now it’s bad). 

Tuesday 9pm.

Stitches, much scratches, lots of bruises. Not to mention psychological scaring to second child (aka partner in crime). But everyone is thankfully asleep.

Notice computer with blank screen still waiting.

Yeah right! Like all those ‘write every day’ people could scribble anything at this stage. Or could they? I think I should slip into self doubt in the comfort of my own bed.

Ah, yes. That’s better.

Sash

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