My empty nest is full again. Both kids are home for an indeterminate period while they seek employment. Having them home isn’t the issue-it’s having them home with their own schedules.
When they were in school, my writing life was bound by their calendar. From September to June, mid-morning to mid-afternoon was mine. Creatively speaking, I’m not a morning person, and I can only be a night owl if someone else takes a serious look at my work before it goes anywhere. I packed in as much writing as possible while other people were doing lunch. I lost that schedule in the summer, but decided to enjoy the togetherness since I knew the time would come when they would leave home.
School days flowed into college years. They gathered their diplomas, and the cycle of life revolved. They had studio apartments, I had an empty nest. My writing schedule was no longer bound by the morning coffee break and the afternoon donut run. I could write in bits and pieces, spurts and blasts, whatever the writing gods allowed.
Then they came back, which isn’t supposed to be part of the life cycle. It certainly isn’t something I put in my schedule. Nor is it in their schedules-yet. I’ve told them that my writing time is precious to me. I may start keeping sharp objects under my desk to throw at them if they interrupt.
So far, the writing gods have been vague about how they’re going to rescue me (and my poor neglected novel). Of course, the writing gods are rarely anything but vague, so I guess I’ll have to rescue myself. Oh, and find out what sacrifices the employment gods would like.