My writing fantasy

I have to preface this post with a reality check. I’m a mother of two young children, with a full time job and a husband who, surprisingly and quite nicely, likes to spend quality time with me.

I eek out writing time when I have energy in the evenings, after the wee ones go to bed, and during my increasingly rare lunch hours at work, but these are short timeframes.

And, (this is not a sympathy bid,) I’m cool with this. I like my job, and love my kids and husband and while I’d love to write faster, I’m writing, so all is good.

But on Friday mornings, when I’m feeling lazy, I fantasize about my ideal writing life.

So here it is.

A sunny, bright office, all to myself, with floor to ceiling bookshelves on three of the walls. A comfy couch for reading breaks and a computer not attached to the internet. (because even in fantasy, I know my limitations. The internet is writing kryptonite)

A full day to write. The nanny would be taking care of the kids. Eight solid hours to think about nothing but story and craft. The mornings would be for writing new scenes, the afternoons for editing.

A state of the art, two hundred pages per minute, printer. A fresh cup of perfect coffee that magically appears, and the knowledge that someone else is taking care of the mountain of laundry piled up in all the bedrooms.

And every four months a research trip, or conference, with my writing buddies. I’d like to go to France first. I’ll set a book there eventually, so it would be useful.

I’d take an hour every day to work out with a personal trainer, because when my body’s tired, my brain sometimes works better. And because it seems really decadent to me to work out during work hours.

Ok, that sums up my perfect writing day. I’m sure the reality is that with eight hours, I’d still only accomplish what I do in two hours, but it sounds so relaxed and nice and my laundry would be done.

And really, can you ask for anything better than someone else doing your laundry.