- Publisher: Sphere (19 Jan 2012)
- ISBN-13: 978-0751546156
On Workplaces and Inspiration
I’m writing this on theiPad that’s perched on my lap as I sit on the jumbo cord couch in the front room of our small rented flat in Sydney. Not that this is how or where I usually write – that would be at my desk on my computer in my daughter’s bedroom. But it’s school holidays here now, and said daughter has commandeered my computer for her daily Happy Hour (watching Justin Bieber videos on YouTube), so granting her wish for ‘a bit of privacy, please Mum!’ (she’sonly five and a half,not fifteen!), I’ve been banished to the front room.
Which is OK, really. Because Location, Location, Location will be on in a minute. And as long as my 22-month-old son sleeps soundly for an hour or so in his room (is that a pig flying past our window?!) and my little girl is occupied, now is my primewriting time.
It’s not ideal, obviously – I mean, who wouldn’t love to be sat at an old banker’s desk in an attic study, staring out the window at rolling, verdant hills, waiting patiently – all day if necessary – for their muse to visit? Who wouldn’t love to be spending hours, days, weeks mulling things over, reading constantly in their library and going for extended strolls in the country, nutting out literary problems and meeting colourful characters along the way? Who wouldn’t give just about anything to have the luxury of doing what they love all day every day without interruption or having to worry about pesky little nuisances like food or bills or rent. Or kids.
Unfortunately, though, that isn’t real life. Or at least it isn’t mine. My reality consists of:
a) Stressing out and shouting at the kids if my spit-spot schedule is thrown out –because if we’re still at the playground by 11am, we won’t make it home in time for him to eat his lunch, have his bottle and fall fast asleep and, as a result, I won’t get any work done that day (because Lord knows that working at night is out - once the kids are in bed of an evening, it’s only a matter of minutes before I’m off to Noddington, too, eyes glued shut, mouth agape on the couch in front of Midsomer Murders).
b) Trying to squeeze some thinking space into a head crammed full of playdates to arrange and meals to plan and prepare (I always imagine healthy, vibrant children brimming over with Omega 3 thanks to organic salmon and all manner of veg - but actually endup with kids high on sugar and Spaghetti Hoops and probably coming down with scurvy).
c) Talking and ‘reading’ to my wriggly son who appears to have the attention span of a kidney beanby way of encouraging him to speak as opposed to Neanderthal-style pointing and grunting. I won’t be drawn, won’t say anything more about that at this point. Except forlike father, like son. Uh-oh. Did I just think that – or actually write it? Oops.
d) Um, loads of other stuff that’s just too small - but infuriatingly time-consuming - to mention. Which is handy, because I’ve forgotten what exactly that stuff is, to tell the truth.
I’m not complaining, though. No, really. Those kids are the best things that have ever happened to me. And even though they would try the patience of a saint (let alone mere mortal me), it’s the emotions they spark in me- big and small, nice and narky- that, when I think about it, actually inspire me to write. It’s almost as though I need to, for the sake of my own sanity, to try to make sense of all the madness.
So when I’m washing up a seemingly endless pile of baby bottles, muttering to myself about how I can never get anything done and this place is a tip and I can’t seem to remember anything these days, including that I’m on a diet and I’m getting so fat eating their leftovers and I never even get time to exercise properly andno one told me that this constant selflessness would be so completely and utterly knackering and TURN THAT BLOODY BIEBER DOWN! YOU’LL WAKE THE BABY!
And lo, another day’s writing comes to an end, marked, as per usual, by a bellowing toddler rattling the bars of his cot, a crying, door-slamming five year-old Belieberturning teenager any minuteand a frustrated, guilt-ridden mum who finds herself wondering a lot lately whether guzzling a restorative glass of wine (or three) so early in the day really is such a bad thing.
But hey! At least it gives me something to write about...!
The lovely people at Sphere are offering 5 copies of Just another Manic Mum Day to UK readers.
Please fill in the form to be entered in the UK only giveaway.
Please see giveaway policy.
Ends 26th January 2012
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