I’ve basically given up on NaNoWriMo.
That’s hard for me to admit because essentially it’s another way of saying, “I am a quitter.” This is both true and false: I could bang away on it and am choosing not to, but I am pretty convinced if I did the words just wouldn’t come out right. And I know, I know, your novel is never going to get written if it stays in your head.
That said, I have my reasons. The NaNoWriMo novel I was planning to write (and will, I promise you) requires some background research that I simply haven’t had enough time to do. So use your imagination, I hear you say. Well, quite. And there you have it, that little sentence almost undoes my entire argument.
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Later this morning I am going to be interviewed by the local paper as part of the upcoming 25 year anniversary of the Alan Marshall Short Story Awards. As I was the local winner last year I think they want a “Where Are They Now?” kind of update. And so I will talk about Surprise! and the poetry win and the upcoming Australian Blog Writing book.
Perhaps we might discuss this blog. I am usually pretty tight lipped among my local acquaintances about Miscmum, however in the last few weeks I’ve heard knowledge of its existence has travelled to new people, helped by my being highly ranked by Google on the search term ‘Eltham Fun Run.’
I’m not sure how comfortable I’d be if the discussion turned in that direction. For you see, my weekend wasn’t full of stellar parental moments.
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Keira has made great progress with her swimming since we resumed her lessons this semester. She’s now even putting her head underwater voluntarily, something unheard of before. She and Riley have lessons at the same time, and we arrived for lessons a few minutes they were scheduled to start. She was splashing around, showing off, weaving between the hordes of people also there due to the heat. I clapped and praised her, while I also kept an eye on Riley.
Then at a moment my attention was elsewhere, she jumped on me, headbutting me right on the bone under my eye. I called out in pain and she apologised immediately, without restraint, knowing from the tone in my voice that it hurt.
So as I stood there, holding my hand to the spot, crying (yes, indeed. How embarrassing) I battled to keep my patience. Hot pain travelled across my cheekbone and in a few regrettable seconds I was so angry, I wanted her away, Riley away, so I could just sit and feel sorry for myself. I fought between being the ‘mother’ and being ‘Karen’ – the childlike, selfish Karen – who just wanted to scream, “This fucking stings!”
But, no. I sent her along to her class, for then – as time does – the clock ticked over to the half hour and it was our time to be water educated.
“Keira, go now,” I said.
She looked panicked. “No, mum. Tell me why you’re sending me away.”
Oh, poor love. I was back to being a mum again. “It’s okay, I know it was an accident. I’m just saying it’s time to head over to the other pool now for your lesson.”
She looked relieved and she turned and left, and I took my wriggling son to his class.
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I’m not proud of my reaction, and yet I wrote it here anyway. Many of you might wonder why, as I do. Perhaps it’s my way of apology. Perhaps you’ve had a similar experience, that flash of anger at your children’s accidental trespasses. I’m not sure I’d talk about it with a stranger, so why here?
Perhaps because the tapping of the keys is my way of therapy, my private time to process these feelings.
And it helps.
This is why I blog.
