I'm not really home alone.
I'm home because my boy isn't feeling well, but since he's not feeling well, he's in his room doing what boys who don't feel well do, playing quietly in his imagination.
I'm home, so I'm going to take the time today to sneak some writing in. Here's the hard part though, all I really want to do, every day, is write. I would rather be here, at my desk with my non-ergonomic keyboard, in the quiet of my home, and write. Write my books. Write essays. Write articles. It's really the world that suits me. I've done it before, when I was in Washington, juggling a degree, raising preschoolers and writing my first book, so I know I can be home and get the work done.
And it's totally in my three-year-plan to achieve this type of life.
It's just, every now and again, when I get a glimpse and taste of the life I want, oh man, I really just want it now... but patience, I know. Doing this while earning an income is important. I need that steady paycheck right now... oh but I shall dreeeaammm....
And after I dream a bit, I'll write! I'm in two writers workshop courses, both of which so far, are going really well. The next one I take, depending no the course of this one, will be on fictional writing vs. nonfiction writing. The workshops are good because they are doing two very important things for me: 1) Helping me hone my skills and 2) Reminding me to stay on the path I'm on.
I am a writer. Before anything else and after everything else, that is who and what I am.