Is It Safe to Write Yet?

We watched The Man Who Invented Christmas over our winter break. Never have I seen a more accurate portrayal of what a fiction writer's life is like. As Charles Dickens struggled to pen A Christmas Carol, Scrooge and the other characters appeared in his room to nudge him along in telling their story.

I have a story that I need to write. For the past two weeks, the main character has been whispering in my ear, revealing valuable tidbits about her life.

I find myself rather jealous of Dickens. Whenever his muse appeared, he was free to run up to his study and write in solitude, albeit with occasional interruptions. I, on the other hand, am caring for a 3-year-old whirlwind who gives a running commentary of her life and wants to know the "why" of pretty much everything. Even trying to write this small blurb, I have had 3 attack hugs, fielded 2 questions, been covered in a Minnie Mouse blanket, and had a punch balloon attached to my foot. Oh, and now the dog needs to go out.

No, my writing will have to wait until preschool resumes next Monday. All those bits and pieces will be swirling around in my brain, taunting me until I can lasso them and bring them down to the paper in front of me. If you see me babbling to myself this weekend, now you'll understand why.

Is It Safe to Write Yet?