My son Bradley, two and a half, a thirty-three-inch-high, acrobatic, high-energy, bundle of sheer will, is back in Florida, whence he came to us in October 2008. My wife and I are parents in our forties, both professors and writers. I have been publishing for over twenty years, and had just begun to achieve some success when Bradley arrived. In other words, I hit that crucial point in the career when writers grow or slowly disappear.
I'm here in Florida with Bradley, giving my wife time to do research on the Italian Americans of Tampa, her current subject. This little vacation follows a ten-day solo stint on my little place in Upstate New York, during which I was able to keep my own schedule and write as much as I pleased. In that short time, I finished more work than I had in the previous nine months, including a short story owed an editor, the first chapter of a cookbook, and the last portion of a story that will round out a small collection of "Pope Stories." That's the reality.
I'm going to blog for a little while on putting writing out of my mind for a while, the adjustment to that, and strategies for getting back to it on Bradley's schedule, not mine.
Please join in.