Biting off more than I can chew, and then chewing

I am on deadline with a book. And I have four children. There really is nothing more complicated about my life than that. I am slaving over a story and playing with kids and trying to keep my home from tumbling into irrepreble chaos. Those are my days. And, often, my nights. (Also, I watch Survivor. Team Dawn.)

The rewrites are a struggle right now. Sometimes I wish writing a book could just be easy for me at last. But when I think about it practically, I am glad it's a struggle. I am (as usual) attempting to write a book that's too hard for me. I'm telling a story I'm not smart enough to tell. The risk of failure is huge. But I prefer it this way. I'm forced to learn, forced to smarten myself up, forced to wrestle. And if it works, then I'll have written something that is better than I am.

"Write what you know" is for sissies.