Thanksgiving Birthday

This year my daughter's birthday fell on Thanksgiving. It would have been a nightmare if we hadn't celebrated early. Scarlett had a concert she wanted to attend on November 4th so she had a party the night before and went to the concert with some of her friends the next night. She said it was the best night of her life. A mother couldn't hope for more. The lead singer fell on her while body surfacing the crowd and in her mind that was a good thing. He even talked to her alone and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She was in heaven. It certainly made Thanksgiving easier for us, though I felt weird about not celebrating the day of her birth on the actual day. Today was the day she made me a mom, which is a big deal. It even rates above getting my first book published 'Painted Jezebel'. I did make her listen to her birth story, a tradition I started for all my kids.On the positive side, I had time to surf the web for promo opportunities for my novel. Raising kids, dealing with teen drama, writing and promoting is hard as a parent. I would love to hear how other parents with writing careers juggle these responsibilities. Leave a comment. I could always use more advice on the subject.Being super mom is super hard when you're pulled in so many directions.

Blame it on my muse

If I don't get the housework done or the kids clothes are mismatched, don't blame me. Blame it on my muse. She is a stern taskmaster. She doesn't let me quit writing even when my eyes are all bleary and I'm begging for sleep. Just one more page, one more paragraph, one more line. I've never seen her, so how do I know she's real? Is she a figment of my imagination? I could say yes, but then all the voices I hear in my head demanding their stories be told would just make me crazy. Instead I choose to believe in her.

She's the one cracking the whip, keeping me up all night, even though I have to get up after two hours sleep to wake up the kids for school. She's the one who had me so lost in my own mind, I neglected my hubby on his day off.

I prefer the term domestic goddess over housewife, despite the fact that there is nothing in the least domestic about me. I justify myself with the fact that my husband knew that before he married me. I didn't spend my life longing to be someone's maid. I was born to be a writer, so write is what I do. Just because I haven't got paid for it yet, doesn't change what I am. Becoming a mother gave me pause. With six kids to take care of, I silenced her voice for as long as I could, but she is like another child demanding her share of the attention.

To be honest, I'm grateful. If she weren't around, it would be pretty boring inside my head. Nothing there, but thoughts of dirty diapers, teacher meetings and dinner menus. Oh, the horror of it! Life is quite interesting inside my own mind. I get to murder without fear of consequence, especially people annoy me in my every day life. I meet the most interesting characters, not just vampires, witches and the like, but fascinating people I enjoy having in my head. As much as I love my children, my characters are more stimulating conversationalists. Don't worry, we speak telepathically. No one sees my lips move at all...just my fingers clicking on the keyboard.

If I never sell a manuscript and believe me I hope I do, but even if I don't, my head will always be full of stories. As long as she stays close. I know what keeps her happiest. She has simple tastes. Moonlight or a good thunderstorm are her best inspiration. So I'll put up with the late nights and her occaisional mood swings for the sake of my art. Just remember if you pass by me with a wave and I seem to be ignoring you, my eyes glazed with a faraway look...don't blame me. Blame it on my muse.