For the first time in a long time, I don’t really know what everybody is talking about on the Internet. I don’t know what new dangers have been found in baby formula or what subliminal messages the TV networks are sending to my kids. I haven’t read a parenting magazine or any real paper newspaper for weeks. I haven’t even been reading blogs. And I can’t say I’ve missed it.
Instead, I’ve been reading novels and short stories and watching actual movies on my new TV. I’ve been rediscovering the art of story-telling and learning. The creative juices have been flowing and I’m tempted to just drop off the grid altogether and chain myself to a desk every night from 9 to midnight writing fiction. (Because in the absence of deadlines or instant gratification, I assume I’ll need chains.)
But I also have about a dozen other bloggy and journalistic projects in various stages of development. I have a part-time work-from-home job and I have two young children to care for full time.
Virginia Woolf famously said, “‘a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.” Maybe I just don’t have enough money. Maybe I should wait.