It’s inevitable that taking on a new project takes time away from others. There is, after all, a finite amount of time in a day, a month, and a year.

Some projects are also a lot more work than others.

A baby is a project. An incredibly complicated, unimaginably rewarding one. Creating this amazing, momentarily all-consuming person may be the most important thing I ever do. If it is, it’s nothing to be sad or embarrassed about either, particularly since my kid is super awesome in all the right ways, with his gooby grin, and incredible determination in all things. Someone called him analytical at the hardware store the other day. It was a weird compliment, for sure, particularly since they tied it to his gender, but that’s a post for another day.

Spoiler alert: there were fumes. From my head.

Anyway. He’s important, and I know when I look back at my life, there’s not much I can do that will rank higher on my list of things I’m proud of, no matter what the next sixty odd years bring*.

*Kid, please, please don’t become a serial killer. Or a member of the conservative party in its current state. Don’t make a liar out of me. Please.

Just because I made a kid, though, doesn’t mean I want to give up on accomplishing things. When I got pregnant, I decided to allow myself some time to devote myself to that task, since writing starting coming harder than it ever had. Most nights, for the past year, I fell asleep by nine in a pile of my own drool, while Sushi did her best to spoon herself around whatever position my body was in. I think I watched the entire Veronica Mars Series and enjoyed it immensely, but it may have been a dream.

Back to writing. It wasn’t happening. It broke my heart, but I decided not to push it. It became like running, or walking without a waddle; something I knew I’d do again someday, but not something I was capable of for a while. I knew I’d do it again, because, like my spawn, I am also a determined person, and writing is something I love. It’s something that makes me happy, something that makes me feel like myself. It’s a challenge, just like carrying a baby and functioning after that baby arrived was.

Is.

I’ve started writing again. It comes in bits and pieces, and I’ve been trying to come up with a way to turn it into something cohesive, something I can share and feel excited about as I go, so I’ll keep going, instead of devoting my baby-free hours to googling things I should be buying on Amazon for my baby that I’ll then have to spend my baby-free hours cleaning up #viciouscycle.

One of the hardest things about moving from writing prolific fanfiction, as I did for a few years, to writing somewhat less prolific original fiction was the lack of immediate feedback, even on rough writing. For those that sneer or look down at fanfiction, and I know you’re out there reading this, right now, I wholeheartedly believe that there is no better tool for developing as a writer than having copious amounts of eyes on your work, positive or critical, and finding that, in the real world, as a new writer, is hard. Hard as hell. Before you sneer, consider that. Where else can you immediately attract thousands of readers?

Back to my writing now, which is not of the fanfiction variety. I’m considering trying out Wattpad as a host for the project I’m working on now. I’m going to try and post (at least) weekly, and I may throw a couple of other WIPs up as well, as some sort of push forward for me to keep going. If you aren’t familiar with Wattpad, do me a solid and check it out. Would you read something published here? They have a lovely app for all your mobile devices, and an ever-growing presence with readers and writers (and I kind of love where they are with storytelling right now).

Consume All The Writing!

So there’s my favour. Give it to me straight up. Would you read my stuff in a serialized form (some of you, again)?