Deadline

I'm finally doing a reading this Friday night.  I used to do readings often when we lived in Chicago, but western Ohio just isn't the bustling literary metropolis.  There's going to be a gathering of writers reading at a bookstore, and I asked if I could read and they agreed.  I'm going to read a story from my book, most likely the story about my trip to the nude beach.  Good times. 
I've set a self-imposed goal of April 25 for the completion of my next book.  I have no idea how I'll ever find the time to write.  While my students were working on something in class, I managed to jot down ideas for stories, but there's a long way to go from scribbles to book.  I almost get jealous when I teach because students get to write and try out the techniques I'm talking about.  I'm sure they are the exact opposite of happy about having to write, but I'd give my left pinky toe to be able to sit in a quiet cabin in the middle of nowhere and write for a week straight.  That's the thing that's hard about writing--you can't dabble in it here and there between putting the dinner on and having your baby throw up on you.  Sure I'm constantly thinking of things to write about, but I'm lacking in the ability to get those embrionic ideas to grow into anything more than snippets of "Oh, I should write about this."
And I could steal 10 minutes somewhere, I'm sure, but then I get caught up in the fact that 10 minutes just isn't enough.  I need to realize that 10 minutes each day at the end of the week is over an hour of writing.  Well, I'll save those optimistic thoughts for tomorrow.  My eyes are nearly crossed from reading a gazillion (exact count) essays from students.  All I have the energy to do now is eat a bowl of Cheerios before crashing in bed for a few hours before the baby wakes up for his middle-of-the-night hangout.