The reality of my writing life is: I will NEVER have time or space alone to write.  Or to attend conferences.  Or to make it out the door to sit in glorified coffee shops and library stalls.  The vacuum I aspire to live in simply does not exist.

Blowing my fleshy bits to smithereens over my four children and husband might in fact happen, but they will never learn from it.

Here I am, crammed into a corner of my closet, after explaining to my family I am unavailable due to the awesome, free online conference I’m attending (or because I have to finish my next chapter before so and so deadline, or because… please fill in the blank),

and my husband comes in to tell me all about his new iPhone app called the Auto-Nag (not really, it’s a to-do list app) instead of going out to mow the lawn, for which the alarm is buzzing in his hand.  Do you really think I want to download That when I’m trying to escape the undying list?

How about the kids, who suddenly need lunch though they barely ate breakfast, which included a piece of chocolate birthday cake as bribery for not interrupting me during my conference sessions.

And the screaming baby who woke up from the riot Dad created by announcing he’ll walk the kids’ Poke-Walkers while he mows the lawn.  I know, how cool is that?  (The baby did not get the cake.)

I do not live in a quiet household.

So here I am (still in my closet) evil-eyeing my love for asking me where the camera battery charger goes, since he’s finally cleaning out his suitcase from his trip (a whole week later) so he can not do what his Auto-Nag is nagging him to do (oh, he informs me it really was nagging about the suitcase)…

…and telling myself I need a new perspective.  A new set of skills.  A new strategy.  Since hiding and escapism do not work.

Nor do ear-plugging devices.  I’ve tried these in the form of fingers (limits typing), plugs, buds, muffs and blankets, and they all result in in-my-face time with the person deciding I’m part of their conversation.

My new coping strategies are:

1) Use your lungs.

Scream it out.  Hurl your laptop if necessary.  Then take a deep breath and RELAX.  Reassure yourself that whatever manageable goal you set for the day WILL get done.  Believe this with your whole soul and don’t give up (you can use your spiral notebook as back-up).

2) Use your fury.

If you still feel explosive, jot it on a notecard with a brief sympathetic scene (simmering inside a volcano), or character (evil dudesse strangling your child), or description of the bulbous wart making your life a nightmare, and tuck it into your pocket.  Keep every one.  Soon you’ll have an index of baddies to use in your WIP.  This is progress, btw.

3) Use the pause button.

No one ever told me about the pause button.  School taught me for over sixteen years that I needed a longer attention span, tested by long hours hunched over textbooks and essays.  But reality tells me ADD (aka super-heroism, if you read Rick Riordan’s The Lightning Thief–I think he was onto something) is the new road to success.

In between these very words, I have…

…up-loaded the Auto-Nag app so I can enjoy later follow-up lessons on calendaring (evidently I need help here)
…fed the baby (twice) and changed a dirty diaper
…made left-over spaghetti for lunch
…completed the curriculum for, printed and mailed my Notice of Intent to Homeschool my daughter
…enjoyed guests for an hour
…printed Pokemon coloring pages so my daughter would leave me alone
…learned to play Fruit Ninja properly
…transformed the quarreling of three children into the cleaning of three rooms
…searched everywhere for my iPhone charger cable
…and eaten lunch myself (yay for me).

These words still appeared.  Yep, I’m a super-hero.

4) Use your undying love.

If you’re a writer, you love stories so bad the sparkle of new lives (or old ones) calls you to write even through cement.  Enjoy your awesome life because it gives you your fuel…

…to just write anyways.