Blog posts and writing in general have been spotty at best lately. I normally work three jobs, and do okay with it, but for a month now I've had house guests. These are the kind that mess up everything and make you cook all their meals, but you can't kick them out because they're family and have nowhere to go. One of them is a three year old. Add to that my landlord has gone bonkers and so I'm planning to move...of course output is going to be spotty.



This is how I feel right now...I just look worse.


  

There are unique challenges for writers with busy lives. You know the obvious one but there are even stranger ones. For example, I have discovered how absolutely sickeningly creepy it is to have to write a lurid sex scene while a three year runs around you with her MagnaDoodle demanding you draw a picture of your dog for her. Seriously, that will drive you nuts.

Or the annoying feeling of realizing how demonstrative you have to make your face when thinking. Seriously, I'm working on a one-off short story, Out of the Past, for literotica, in the style of a 1980's pulp novel. Why? Because why the fuck not? I got stuck at a certain point and couldn't figure out how to work past it. So I set my laptop down and tried to think it through. I got a three year making my dog hyper and trying to get me to wrestle him, an adult putting on DVDs of WWE matches from 20 years ago...you get the idea. I tried going outside for a cigarette, the ultimate introvert escape, only to become the goddamned pied piper. After a while I realized I had to show I was in deep thought. I personally assume my expression looks like Popeye the Sailor crapping out a pineapple, but it works, and they leave me alone. 



Kinda like this. Protip: Do NOT Google "Popeye the Sailor crapping out a pineapple."  Goddamn rule 34b



  

And then there is the problem of mood-matching. As a writer you can't write a sex scene if you're not feeling frisky. You can't write a murder scene unless you're feeling dark and disturbed. Your emotions have to somewhat line up with the scene you're writing. Oh, god, how do people have any kind of life when they have children? I get the continuation of the species thing, but these machines are nothing but bottomless pits of need who produce an insane amount of waste as well as consume food like a locust on a Ramadan evening...and they are the biggest attention whores on the planet! I mean it, even the ones who have a good relationship with their father are complete attention whores. Gah! You try writing a scene of slow, patient information extraction and torture when you have to cook dinner, fold laundry, turn in assignment for job #1, have clients calling for job #3, all while having a a toddler attempt to yank your large dog's tail off while he whines for help.

Moral of the story:  Do whatever you can to slow down time. If you're going to have kids as a writer, get an office somewhere. Better yet, just don't have kids. Or house guests. And please, please, please, invite me to share an office if you get one!