If I want to spend more time with the kids doing all those mumsy-type things you see on Pintrest I need a never ending pot of cash and to be able to quit the day job. And possibly a bigger house. Definitely more storage space. And some sticky backed plastic. I’m 32 and yet to figure out exactly what sticky backed plastic IS and where one would get it from but it served generations of Blue Peter presenters well and let’s face it; Pintrest is Blue Peter for adults. I’m sure there are definitely the instructions for a Tracy Island made from loo rolls, PVA glue and sticky backed plastic on there.
Anyway, in my quest to become super-mum I definitely need to quit the day job and at the ripe old age of 32 (yes, I’ve said it again. I’m hoping that by repeating my age it will be less of a shock when I’m happily floating along listening to The Backstreet Boys and suddenly realise that 1995 was not a mere ten years ago.)I have decided that if I don’t give this writing thing a go I might as well crack out the leather elbow patches now and settle myself in for another three and a half decades of teaching Shakespeare. By the time I’m able to retire my newly hatched son will be older than I am now, probably with kids of his own. I’ll be a grandmother.
So, despite waiting around for someone from Penguin to come knocking and say; ‘hey, YOU look like you could write, here, have a book deal.’ I still have to live in the big wide world and actually go out to work in the mornings. If you know me at all you know that this is the part I detest most about working. I am NOT a morning person. I rise but damn well refuse to even glow never mind shine until at least dinner time.
I have a fantasy that while the kids are at school, I lazily rise from my emperor sized bed around 11am, throw on a silk robe, make my way down to my sunlit office; beautifully decorated and always smelling of fresh flowers and tap away on my hideously expensive computer, churning out such wonderful, interesting novels that Spielberg has me on speed dial, begging me to sell the rights to everything I’ve ever written, all the while sipping on a latte and eating fruit. And LIKING it. (the fruit I mean, not the latte, I always like a latte)
You see, there’s a lot to this little fantasy of mine and if any part of it can be realised then it’s time to use the maternity leave to attempt it. Everything has to start somewhere, often from quite humble beginnings. It would appear that ‘Stage One – Do Some Proper Writing’ has very humble beginnings. I won’t give you the full details but leave you with this: I am currently sitting on my three year old’s bedroom floor singing ‘Five Little Speckled Frogs’ while he evacuates his bowels into the potty. Humble.