I’ve had quite a week of it. Back at work after a week off sick and boy, did that tire me out! For the first couple of days I just collapsed on the sofa as soon as I got home and struggled to stay awake till a reasonable bedtime. I’m not cut out to be working class. I should be laid on a chaise longue being fed top quality chocolates by a very grateful manservant. My mother always said I should have been born a lady and she was right. Mind you, she also wished me a merry Christmas on New Year’s Eve and thinks Big Brother is fantastic television, so I can’t really set much store by her opinion.
I hadn’t fasted during my “poorly” week. In fact, I’d eaten any old rubbish as I couldn’t be bothered to cook. The result? I gained three pounds. Three pounds!! Enough to send me straight back to bed with a bag of doughnuts. Luckily, I’m made of sterner stuff and instead started the week fasting. The weight I gained has now gone, plus three pounds more, so I’m back on track. Quite a wake up call, though. If you don’t stay on top of things they slip away quite easily. Too easily…like a marriage, for instance.
I learned something else this week. DH and I had a long talk in an Asda car park – as you do – and it transpires that my writing really is a major issue. Now, he says he’s proud of me and wants me to succeed, but at the same time I apparently get so absorbed in it that I have no time left over for him. He said, quite wistfully, that he’d like to give me time to “get it out of my system” but knows it’s something I’ve wanted to do all my life so doesn’t see a solution. It seems we’re at an impasse.
I don’t really know how to solve this one. The problem is that DH works nights and I work days. When I get home from work I am absolutely NOT in the mood for writing. I know. I’ve tried, but I’m just too tired to do it. I work better in the short time I have in the morning before work, but the best time for writing is weekends. I can spend a whole two days working on the WIP and getting thoroughly absorbed in it. The trouble is, when DH got up around lunchtime, obviously he wanted my attention. I would be too busy thinking about the novel to give him much attention. I’d be resentful because in the evenings I’d be alone all the time and I’d got so used to my own routine by then that I didn’t see why I should change things for him. On his two nights off a week he’d either go and see his mates or fall asleep in front of the television. That seriously annoyed me. Our timelines were all askew and just didn’t allow for us to see enough of each other. Or maybe, the truth is, we just didn’t try hard enough.
I know that I get very distracted by writing. I can be in the middle of a conversation when a thought will strike me about a plot point or a character and I’ll just break off mid-sentence and stare into space. My daughters know this and just laugh about it but I suppose for DH it became very irritating and I can see how selfish I was being. Writing just can’t be compartmentalized though, can it? I mean, I could stop myself from doing any actual writing when he’s around, but I can hardly stop thoughts or inspiration striking can I? Should I just ignore them?
Anyway, we left the car park with me in tears and him as baffled and upset as ever. I don’t know the answers and I don’t think he does either. The worst thing is, even as I lay on my bed later on, sobbing, a part of me was thinking that I’d better write down how I was feeling because one of my characters is going through a very similar thing and this is great research.
God help me, there’s no hope…
Have a great week xx