The End

I recently published my first edited book,  Labor of Love: A Literary Mama Staff Anthology ,  with  Small Harbor Publishing . It's an anthology of writing from  Literary Mama  staff over the past 20 years. It's a beautiful collection and I am proud of the writers and proud to share the book.  It seems a fitting moment, as I pondered sharing about the book here on the blog, to reflect on my life as a blogger, and acknowledge that it is time to officially end this blog.   I started blogging in about 2007, when my baby was learning to toddle, when I was learning how to be a mother and stepmother, when I was just starting to see my way as a writer. I needed it back then. I craved it. I had a variety of blog iterations--family, art, creativity, writing things I delved into. There's a freedom in blogging, a casualness, an easy familiarity that's lacking (for me anyway) in other kinds of writing. I loved blogging and the words came pouring out.  Ove...
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with kids

I haven't written much lately- on the blogs, on any projects, or in any journals.  This is due mainly to the fact that Cedar has been off school for the past four days.  Having him home, while positive in many ways, does not exactly allow for long stretches of quality writing time.

I still am wondering how people with kids accomplish anything really. 

This is, of course, one of the main reasons that someone in my position could consider taking on the pursuit of higher education impossible.  While the idea of studying, reading, writing for weekly deadlines with a mentor or professor might sound fun (if you are a bit over the edge) the reality could potentially come crashing down in flames.  I am just not sure how a person like me, a mother, stepmother, partner, and home caretaker, can manage it all. 

I can't afford regular childcare, I have loads of other responsibilities to keep up with, and Cedar is in this long phase of childhood where he is asking for attention every moment.  He is completely, utterly, and rightly directed towards Rob and I and attaining our attention constantly.  And no matter how committed I feel or am to working on a writing career, for the foreseeable future, it always has to take a backseat to my first commitment.  My kid.

This means that some days there just is no time to write.  I usually can squeeze in twenty minutes, just to keep the momentum flowing, but twenty minutes a day does not an MFA make.  Nor a career. 

Something to consider, as we meander through the lovely colors of fall.

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