A TYPICAL DAY IN ROBIN’S WRITING LIFE
I’m lounging on the upper deck of a large cruise ship, little umbrella drink in my hand. Wearing my bikini and sunglasses, a constant cool breeze keeping me cool as I do nothing, but relax.
I hear the sound of a horn honking and it continues to grow louder. My eyes fly open, and it’s my lab barking to go out for his morning constitution. Argh!
I look at the clock hanging on the bedroom wall. Five a.m., the same as every other morning. I roll out of bed and stretch. I could probably stretch a mile, but don’t because I’d have to walk all the way back.
After I let the dogs out—yes, I have four—I grab a shower, then head straight to the kitchen where I know my husband has a fresh pot of coffee waiting. He loves me, what can I say. I tiptoe around because my youngest daughter and granddaughter are still sleeping.
I watch the early morning news, then at six a.m. when my hubby leaves for work, I grab my laptop and coffee, then head to the front porch where I have a small card table set up. I live in the country so it’s quiet and serene, until the neighbor’s rooster starts crowing. Some mornings he starts crowing long before daylight. Those are the mornings I lie in bed and think about knocking him off his roost.
I rake back my wet tangles, take a deep breath and open my laptop. After I pull up the file I think, okay where was Genevieve when I last saw her? Ah, yes, I remember.I scroll back up the page a few paragraphs and read just to refresh my memory and get back in my YA frame of mind.
I usually write until around eight when my granddaughter, Ryleigh (nine months) wakes. Then, it’s put my writing on hold so I can change and feed her. If her mom is off work I let her sleep. We play for a bit, she eats a few dried Fruit Loops with me, and it’s nap time.
I get another hour to write—the phone rings. “What’s up?” It’s my oldest daughter. All my kids know I do most of my writing during the day, but especially early in the morning. While I’m on the phone with her, I keep glancing at mytime ticking away on my pc.
When I finally convince her to let me call her later, I fix another cup of coffee and sit back down. Only this time nothing happens. Come on, Genevieve. She doesn’t say a word. Instead, she scowls at me, arms folded and tapping her foot. You know how teens are. They think the world revolves around them. She’s punishing me for making her put her story on hold.
I ignore her and attempt a light copy edit—the phone rings again. “Hey, Mom.” It’s my next to youngest daughter. After watching even more of mytime tick away. I convince her to call my oldest daughter where they can chat with each other.
I reheat my coffee and sit back down. Again. Are you over being mad, Genevieve? When she turns her back and stomps off into the dark recesses of my mind, I take it as a sure sign she’s angry. Please come back. I’ll turn my ringer off. I promise, no more phone interruptions.
After several minutes of coaxing, I finally get her to come back. just as we are ready to pick back up, I hear the muffled sounds of Ryleigh crying.
I jump up and stick my head in the door. “Erin,” I yell. “Wake up and get Ryleigh. I really need to write today.
After two more times of opening the front door and yelling at my youngest daughter to wake up, she finally does and the crying stops.
I sigh as I sit back down. Sorry, Genevieve. She is seething. You know how teens and young adults are. After all, you are one. DUH!We argue a few minutes, then get back to work. I get lost in my writing, then the next thing I know it’s early afternoon. Time to grab a bite to eat, start the laundry and start supper before getting on with the rest of my day.
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