When we were first married, my husband and I lived in a tiny little town on the northern border of Nevada in a small studio apartment. My husband worked anywhere from 12 to 20 hours a day doing set up for banquets at the local casino, giving me hours and hours to do nothing but write.
I would sit at our table with my word processor (okay, at least it wasn't a typewriter--I'm not that old!) and work on my current project until my lead character managed to get herself into a jam I couldn't get her out of. Writer's Block.
My word processor was just that--a word processor. It didn't have any games to distract me from my character's dilemma, no Internet to look up a possible solution. Just a blinking cursor.
Inevitably, I'd start working on a different writing project. Usually around chapter nine (I have a lot of unfinished projects from that first year of marriage that all end at chapter nine). And again, I would write for hours and hours until I ran into another wall.
And then I'd stare at the blinking cursor for hours.
I miss those days.
Now, writer's block is far worse than a brick wall. It comes in the form of seven demanding children, a house that seems to always need cleaning, and fickle technology that decides to break at the most inopportune times.
My hours of endless writing (or staring) have shrunk to about two hours a day. Around 1 pm, after the cleaning is done and after walking my kindergartner to school. That is, if my three-year old stays with his first movie choice and decides to watch the whole thing. But most days, I manage a sentence or two before he changes his mind and takes another ten minutes selecting a new movie, or he needs to go potty, or he wants a snack.
Or wants to sit on my lap.
But when I finally get him settled, playing quietly and watching his movie, just when I get rolling on my writing, the garage door bangs open and my teenagers come home. My overly loquacious teenagers.
They pull the bench up from the table so they can sit beside me as I type, filling me in on every minute of their
seven or so hours of seminary and school. After two minutes, I abandon the writing and give them my full attention.
When at last, they turn to their school work, disappearing into the depths of their rooms, the front door swings open and my elementary school children pour through the opening. Snack, homework, reading with my kindergartner, and sorting through papers occupies my time.
And so goes my two hours of writing.
I love those kids, but sometimes I yearn for some normal writer's block!