I have been super excited about my new project. Characters are alive, the story is taking shape, my outline is already 9 pages long as I include snippets of dialogue and other key points as they pop into my head.

Sure, a bunch of it will get cut and reworked, but it’s been heady.  A taste of what made me love writing.

And then our baby got sick. She’s been running a fever of 101-103 (with Tylenol) for three days as I write this. At day 5, the doctor wants to see her (but not before, as he says little ones sometimes go through this, especially little ones in daycare). I had to take off of work. My husband had to take off of work. You’d think a day home would have seen some writing done, but a sick baby allows no time in front of a computer. She needs to be held, comforted and cuddled. She’s a baby. She’s sick. She hates being sick, and she’s mad as hell about it. And she lets you know. Constantly.

One of us has to be dedicated to her while the other deals with the rest of the things a household requires. Food. The other kid. Laundry. Dishes. Recycling. That’s just the few my sleep deprived brain can name that needed doing this morning.

It’s hard enough to deal with a sick little one, but it’s compounded by frustration. Sure, writing isn’t my day job, but its important to me, and I’d finally found this spark of energy.

I don’t want to lose this rhythm, this grove.

I’m hoping the time I have spent on the outline will see me through.

If not, I have to find something that will next time. This isn’t the first or last time that real life is going to get in the way.

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