As I limp through life, the farther along I go, the more I realize most everything is a double-edged sword.

Wisdom comes at the expense of youth. Sliding on ice is only fun until the prospect of falling isn't. The joy of eating Twinkies is counterbalanced by the horror of reading the weigh scale.

Nowhere is this dichotomy more apparent than when combining children with a writing career.

Children are delightful creatures. They teach, or rather re-teach us to see the world with fresh eyes. They are near-constant producers of wonder, amazement and laughter.

Unfortunately, at various stages, they are also near-constant producers of poopy diapers, sleepless nights and general havoc. None of which is conducive to entertaining the muse.

I'm sure this book will be chock-full of tips from writers wiser than I on how to manage the demands of these time thieves. For most of us, the major hurdle is hanging on until the dear little dimpled darlin's are in school. (Let me toss in a quick thank you here though to the inventors of crayons, coloring books, television, vcrs and large cardboard boxes).

Much of my writing now is personal essays, usually of a humorous bent. It falls under the umbrella of creative nonfiction which I define as "writing inspired by, but not limited to, the truth." My solution to the dilemma of both spending time with my sons and writing was simple and shameless.

I used them.

Yes, I picked their little brains and culled the funny observations and naive sagacity and used them in my writing. All it takes is a good memory or nearby notebook. (Both is better.)

The triumphant announcement from the back seat of: "Daddy, the cement in my nose is all dry now!" became the stress-relieving climax to a story about a white-knuckled, mostly-silent drive home during a blizzard.

The dry, teenaged observation: "Dad, you're getting fat" kick-started a rant on how clothes sizes are being incorrectly labeled.

"Write what you know" was the generally-accepted mantra when I started in this business 30-some years ago. It has since fallen into disfavor in some circles. I believe it should still be the 1st Commandment, particularly for new writers. Writing that rings with truth, honesty and clarity springs from what we know.

Not every writing parent is going to specialize in humorous essays of course but consider this: Parenting is nearly as universal an experience as breathing. Articles and books about the subject are gobbled up around the globe. The markets are vast and unlikely to disappear. The tip you discovered on how to keep Johnny amused while grocery shopping, or Sara's cute quip about toilet training could be become a filler in a magazine and that first, important clip in a budding writer's career.

Chances are you've read those articles, tips and quips. The people who wrote, and got paid for them most likely have the same credentials you do; they're card-carrying Moms and Dads.

Whether you decide to write about parenting experiences or aviation articles or devote your time to that romance/sci-fi/literary masterpiece; you'll need to keep the twin P's in mind: Priorities and Perspective. They're important in writing and in life.

No job is more rewarding or more important than raising children. It's our first priority. I firmly believe in the old saying that nobody on their death bed wished they'd spent more time working and less with their kids.

When my sons were younger (at this writing they are 14 and 20), and concerned about a problem with school, or with a friend, I devised a method of illustrating the concept of perspective.
I had them close their eyes and then led them (gently), toward a wall until their noses touched it. I then told them to open their eyes and describe what they saw.

"A wall."

"Can you move forward?"

"Nope."

"What else can you see?"

"Nothing, just part of this wall."

I then had them take one step back and describe what they saw. Then two, and three. With each step back they gained perspective. They saw that the wall wasn't as all-encompassing as their first view indicated. There was a doorway. There was a set of stairs.

In other words, there was a way around, or through the wall (problem).

At various times parents despair that their children will never be toilet trained; that they'll never lose their fascination with flushing toys down the toilet; that they'll always be sullen, uncommunicative teens.

At various times writing parents will despair that they'll never have an uninterrupted hour at the keyboard; that if they find that hour they'll never get past their block; that the endless stream of rejection slips will never be interrupted by a check.

Step back.

Raising children takes many years of dedicated commitment and hard work. So does building a writing career. Neither can be rushed. Neither allows for shortcuts. Understanding and accepting this to be true will help alleviate the stress during those times when neither "job" seems to be going well.

Babies and young children need you all the time. You won't get much writing done.

Older children have school and friends to occupy some of their time. You'll get more writing done.
Teens need you for money, car keys and the occasional lecture. You'll be too worried to get much writing done.

OK. That last bit was a joke. Sort of...you can hope.

The point is, you'll need to fit writing time into the gaps of your parenting time.

From a certain vantage point that seeming-eternity between a baby's first wail and "Mom...Dad...I'm getting married" is just a blink of an eye. You'll wonder where that time went.

It's that double-edged sword again. You'll feel a sense of loss, of sadness; then, as you contemplate hour after uninterrupted hour at the keyboard with only your muse for company, a wildly exhilarating sense of freedom.

Enjoy it. Treasure it. Use it.

Before you know it you'll be asked to baby-sit the grandkids. And you'll want to. It'll be a cinch to fit grandparenting time into the gaps of your writing time.


This essay first appeared in Burning The Midnight Oil - How We Survive As Writing Parents, a book by Dawn Colclasure.

Publisher: Booklocker.com (2004) ISBN 1591135737.