I hope to get some time early next week to blog a bit. I spent a lot of today thinking of you all, especially you, Brittany … but never sat down at a computer. Now it is nearly 1 a.m. and I have to go to bed!!

how many hours does it take for 8 loads of clothes to turn to mouldy mush and have to be washed again? and that’s not even getting my manuscript into the picture. the paranoid part of me thinks she is sabotaging my chances of success as a novelist and a mother. admittedly this week is an extreme case, but it does stand to reason that last week, we conferred and she insisted she would do certain things to make it possible for me to finish – ie watch c while i go someplace else, take her out to lunch with her one day so i can work on writing at home, etc. what happened instead? the opposite. she was here more and louder when i could have been writing and scheduled her ‘lunch with c for the one day/time i had something important scheduled out of the house. and did not notify me until she ran in the door saying, ok time to take c to lunch!’ and ran back out with her, making me run late to my iep mtg for s.

I’ve whined my sob story on here a number of times, but I’ll repeat myself one last time for Diana’s benefit. I’m a stay-at-home mom of two boys (3 and 16 months), my husband works 12 hour days on a good day, and my closest family members are 1.5 hours away. The grandparents live clear across the country, so I’m totally on my own here.

What is expected of me as a mother is entirely incompatible right now with the creative life I want to pursue, and I’ve had to set aside my writerly aspirations just so I can dog paddle through my days , my head only just above water. Sadly, writing no longer feeds my soul. It consumes me, turning me into an angry, screaming harpy, because the more I write, the more I want to write, and the more conscious I am of what Diane said–that “As mothers, yes, we have a biological imperative to focus very deeply on our children, but there is little support for the mother who has a need to support her family financially through a career that requires elite preparation and singular focus,” and apparently I’m the only one who gives a shit about it.

I love my husband and children dearly, but in the priorities of the day, western civilization will end as we know it if I’m not available to heat up a can of Chef Boyardee, fill a sippy, and clean up after everybody afterwards. No one EVER says to me, “Damn Brittany, what a mess you’ve made of chapter 4. When you get a chance can you go straighten that out.” But God forbid nobody has clean socks or replenished groceries. I have to get on that immediately…

And I am bottling, bottling, bottling–surpressing all that simmering anger–knowing that even if I erupt and spew my anger forth for all to see, it still won’t make the slightest bit of difference to anyone else if I’m writing or not. It’s better to distance myself from it. Write stupid little blogs about toddler vomit and dog diarrhea, and expose my sad little maternal woes for all the Schadenfruedian world to see. Every time I read a post about another mother in a similar position who is happily struggling along, I grow just a tinier bit angrier and more resentful, and then distance myself a little more from writing so I can cope with a life without it.

And likewise the mothers who “only” do the parenting don’t have the feeling it’s enough or they’re good enough.

In this society we can’t expect to feel good about ourselves regardless of what we do. Both parenting and making art wants more and more and more. Working on it 24/7 wouldn’t feel enough either.

I try to remember that quality is more important than quantity, although some days– when I’m feeling impatient about not having finished my book yet and feel overwhelmed by the work involved in getting there–I struggle with that concept.

I may not bang out my novel in a year, but I’m feeding my soul with the few pages I’m able to produce a night. As a result, the quality of my life is better.

My writing is more than a hobby and more than just a calling. I treat it as a job, and my entire family knows it. Deadlines are good motivational tools, but they don’t keep me motivated enough as far as my writing goes. The drive within myself is what gets my butt in the chair working.

Cathy: I know you’ll find a rhythm that works for you. Push yourself to achieve your goal yet also give yourself room to relax when life gets in the way and your best intentions and plans get thrown out the window. You are so close. Make a commitment to finish your book and try to take one step (even if it’s a small one) EVERY day to get there, making allowances for unexpected events that may throw you off. Good luck!

When I wrote this essay in 2007, I had a lot more in it – more about the repertoire I had performed on that recital, about the aspects of my job in music that detract from the ability to commit to the music itself, and about questions I have (we all have) about what, exactly I’m demonstrating to my children (my daughters, especially) about how to live life. The contest that I submitted the essay to, however, had a 450-word limit, so I had to leave a lot on the cutting room floor.

The hardest part of the last 7 years for me has been the notion that I “made a choice” and that I am trying to “have it all.” Seeing this blog group, the commentary so far on my essay, and reading Miranda’s interview with Berit has affirmed me so much!

This IS hard … yes, I am blessed in many wonderfully rich ways, but the bottom line reality for me is that I don’t ever feel like I am doing anything well. I feel like half a mother, certainly not what my children deserve; and I feel like I can never measure up in my ultra-competitive work environment. A few of my current section-mates never knew me as a musician before I became a mother, so all they’ve seen is the backstage breastfeeding during intermission, the angst over how to avoid a long separation at bedtime, the au pairs and extra baggage that accompany me and my children on trips, and my frustration when I’ve juggled and arranged things to work out and, like a house of cards, they collapse.

I am also acutely aware of the difference in the life of a man/father in an artistic field. My own husband is a trumpet player and an AMAZING father (incredibly involved with our three children) and he does a lot around the house, thereby making him look like a “dream husband.” Yet, a mother doing the same things is just “doing what’s expected of her.” Why, Cathy, is it only acceptable if you squeeze in your writing time while you are ar the laundromat? Why, Miranda, is your athletic endeavor something you have to “take” instead of something that is offered to you? As mothers, yes, we have a biological imperative to focus very deeply on our children, but there is little support for the mother who has a need to support her family financially through a career that requires elite preparation and singular focus.

I have found great kinship in the writings of this blog group and I am so happy to “meet” you all. While I am definitely not happy to hear that others experience similar conflicts, it has been a real affirmation to me that I’m not crazy, or weak, or otherwise faulty for the feelings I’ve felt through this journey.

oops, cap lock typo, but i could yell that, too. lol!

however, when i do get to the laundromat today, there we go. i’ll have about an hour plus for just that. i will try to take my hour of brain dead quiet tonight for it, too. although, today is jam packed, so more realistically, i can see ploughing through on it tomorrow am with c in front of pbs in the morning and then friday night and saturday day and night if i just escape. funny thing about having one working vehicle: if i zip out with no one in tow, then i’m guaranteed they won’t come looking for me. ;P

thanks for advice and vent space earlier!

Here’s a lateral example. I used to feel badly about going out for a run when our weekends are already overflowing with obligations and activities. It seemed so self-indulgent. But then I registered for a half marathon and I HAD to train. I had to get those miles in. I had a deadline and a training schedule. So even when it wasn’t convenient, I was like “Well, I have to get my 6 miles in, so I’m outta here.” Without the legitimacy of that race, I never would have been able to rationalize the time commitment.

I think it could be the same way with writing. Establish the deadline. Post it on the fridge along with the schedule of smaller deadlines that you need to hit in order to stay on track. Take it seriously, and your family will take it seriously too. It might take them a little while to see that you really mean it, but they’ll get it eventually.

The external urgency is why entering contests is often a valuable spur. You have a deadline, you have to finish a piece. You do what you have to do. You don’t have to apologize for making that work a priority.

Sure, there will be times when your plans are foiled by sick children and acts of God. That’s a fact of motherhood that we’re all intimately familiar with. But if you were working on a “real” deadline and you lost your intended morning writing window, you’d stay up at night until you got it done. Again, you do what you have to do. Some people can’t stand that kind of pressure, and other people thrive on it. I do think, generally speaking, that most people agree that deadlines are necessary evil.

Ultimately, it doesn’t really matter if your family doesn’t “get” or even support what you’re doing. You can still make it a priority, even if you have to be ruthless on occasion. Just wait until you publish your book. Then they’ll get it

Sometimes it seems like all of these choices come down to a complicated cost-benefit analysis, because there is no win-win solution, doesn’t it?

really spoke to me where i am right at this very second with my manuscript. also about how you work so hard for it and then it’s a deflating feeling when it’s over. the elation of finishing is overshadowed by the the sadness that it’s done. but every creative endeavor is a finite experience. i think i’ve done a lot in recent years, maybe the past six in viewing my life more creatively than necessarily finishing any particular project. i know i won’t always be writing this book, but i want to do it well. i want to finish it, i want to see it in print. i do generally more focus on the kids in the day to day, and recently (six months), as you know have been readjusting that focus to the completion manuscript.

at the end of last week, i made a promise to myself that this week i would focus on nothing but getting this edit phase done. i would write that hole in the middle of the novel. to in effect, finish. that has not happened. not even close because for whatever reason, life dumped a load of crap from sick kids and self to dryer breaking, iep mtg(s), etc onto my lap instead.

i spent last night around midnight(way past my bedtime), upset and obsessing that ‘my week’ did not happen as planned. i need to make the focus and utilize my resources (mil/grandma in the home) to the best of my ability and leave the freaking house. today that is happening at the laundromat. do i feel guilty? yes – and no. do i feel resentful? even moreso. where do i fit in the priority list?

if i am ever going to make writing some form of viable income, if i am ever going to legitimize what i do, the recognition from those in my life to that purpose has to be there, too. when i say, ‘hey everyone, here are some ideas to set up time and space for me next week to take care of this, then they need to step up beyond saying ok and forgetting about it. how do i make this happen without turning into a bratty banshee?

seriously, i’m asking for some advice to keep from sounding how i felt last night: how to make those around me see what i am trying to accomplish as a something serious rather than feel like they are just humoring me?

This really resonates with me because I’m a musician myself. To answer your last question first, my husband is a musician too, abd we both struggle the same way, both doing housework, caring for our son, teaching, and trying to squeeze our own music and practice in where we can.

The problem with being a musician for me is that it has this aspect of being an athlete, you have to keep in shape. You also need room for thought, some space in your own mind just like every creative person.

While I’m grateful for the teaching that let’s me stay in contact with my art it also takes away time and energy that I would need for my own playing. Playing with the students in class doesn’t help me get technically better myself.

For now, my husband is the one who doesn’t have a social life but a CD in the making, and I have basically given up writing songs because I’m so tired and my life is so full that I just don’t want to push myself any further.

I will go back to it I hope but right now I don’t see how. I admire Berit but I don’t see myself having a life like that.

On the other hand, giving up music is not an option. The music chooses you, not the other way around, I find if I don’t do anything I get really depressed. So I’ll find a way, I just don’t know how yet.