My vision of a writer's life includes sending my children off to school, walking the crazy Weim and settling down in front of a computer for four or five hours. The phone doesn't ring, the laundry does itself and a quick trip to the grocery yields ingredients for a delicious, nutricious dinner everyone will like.
The reality - I work at a job I love and come home to a house destroyed by two ten-year olds' attempts at making and icing cookies. I do loads of laundry, run the dishwasher, sweep up random pieces of duct tape (the kiddos are also fashioning bracelets), wipe down counters, chisel dried icing of the breakfast room table and try to figure out what's for dinner. And still, it's there. The itch...the need to write about air so warm and heavy it feels like flannel.
So - tonight the writing life will include a dinner sure to engender complaints - chicken again? A load or two of laundry, dishes and at least an hour or two of key tapping.