Boo!

Another year has past and that night where the rules are suspended has withered away with the coming dawn. Halloween, where kids are propelled by their parents into strangers arms and homes, accept candy from the unknown and go home to gorge themselves on sugar while we all bemoan the obesity epidemic, is over for another year. My kids go to sleep planning next years' costume.

I woke up early this morning ostensibly to write this blog post but found 45 minutes of chores to do before one word was written. It's been a slow news week and as of this moment I have had no stories to file for the paper. I have not written anything all week.

Last night, after my hooligans, hyped up on sugar, went to bed, I logged into an old e-mail account where I had stored many writing files. I was pleased to find my thesis in among the scribbled riff raff. I don't have a copy of it and thought it was lost to me forever. I read little bits and pieces and felt an urge to return to school. I am so much smarter when I am there.

I also dug through some old hard copy files that were fortunately returned from Thailand without rot or ruin. There I found what I consider my fictional masterpiece. I usually don't write fiction. My imagination has atrophied over the years and I only seem to be able to deal with the facts. But there, in two copies, was Blueberry Fields on Mars and Dr. Blood. I sat back and read through the 20 or so pages I had written and was amazed. I might start to write fiction again and perhaps even finish this story. It's got potential. I felt excited reading it and remembered the late nights I spent watching my baby sleep as I pounded it out on the laptop next to her crib.

Now, I just don't think I have a 3 a.m. writing jag in me. I would feel too guilty about how tired and cranky I would be with my children the next day. When I think about all these women who do write successfully and have kids I wonder where they draw the line between the selfishness of the solitary world of the writer and the needs of their children. I wonder if I am lazy or inept but quickly dismiss that idea.

It's almost time to wake the children for another day and the dog is crying to go outside. If I feed him another tootsie roll I can complete this post.
This is Little Red Ridding Hood signing off.