Don't try to make sense of it
When you're nearly 8 months pregnant, everything is multi-tasking...
According to official schedules, I should have my hospital bag packed by Friday. I have dealt with this deadline by buying three pairs of pyjamas.
Current novel wordcount is about 67,000 words, which is 7,000 more than at the beginning of this month. Still managing 1000 words a day but it's a struggle every time, momentum has not yet kicked in. I have a horrible feeling that I am writing this novel Trent Jamieson style - not that Trent's results are anything to be sneezed at but my inner brain can't help wondering if right now is an appropriate time to be experimenting. I keep telling my writerly brain that it's time to write rich emotional scenes but no, brain just wants to sketch outlines that can be filled in later, and flit from scene to scene, leaving huge gaps in its wake. Damned brain.
My recent addition to the list of 'it counts as nesting, honestly' pursuits have been obsessively reading Mummyblogs, feminist blogs and my favourite, feminist mummy blogs. (my favourite new discovery is Blue Milk an Australian blogger who so fascinated me with her discussions of motherhood, feminism, identity and the work conflict that I found myself reading her ENTIRE BLOG over about 3-4 days - it was like travelling in time: oh look, Kevin Rudd's apologising to the stolen generation, oh hey look, economy is booming)
I assured myself that this was an entirely sensible method of reminding myself of what it is like to be the parent of a baby, and it all counts as preparation for Life As We Know It to change quite drastically.
However today I find myself obsessively reading amusing recaps of Sweet Valley High novels and am forced to admit that maybe this latter part of babymaking just brings the crazy.
According to official schedules, I should have my hospital bag packed by Friday. I have dealt with this deadline by buying three pairs of pyjamas.
Current novel wordcount is about 67,000 words, which is 7,000 more than at the beginning of this month. Still managing 1000 words a day but it's a struggle every time, momentum has not yet kicked in. I have a horrible feeling that I am writing this novel Trent Jamieson style - not that Trent's results are anything to be sneezed at but my inner brain can't help wondering if right now is an appropriate time to be experimenting. I keep telling my writerly brain that it's time to write rich emotional scenes but no, brain just wants to sketch outlines that can be filled in later, and flit from scene to scene, leaving huge gaps in its wake. Damned brain.
My recent addition to the list of 'it counts as nesting, honestly' pursuits have been obsessively reading Mummyblogs, feminist blogs and my favourite, feminist mummy blogs. (my favourite new discovery is Blue Milk an Australian blogger who so fascinated me with her discussions of motherhood, feminism, identity and the work conflict that I found myself reading her ENTIRE BLOG over about 3-4 days - it was like travelling in time: oh look, Kevin Rudd's apologising to the stolen generation, oh hey look, economy is booming)
I assured myself that this was an entirely sensible method of reminding myself of what it is like to be the parent of a baby, and it all counts as preparation for Life As We Know It to change quite drastically.
However today I find myself obsessively reading amusing recaps of Sweet Valley High novels and am forced to admit that maybe this latter part of babymaking just brings the crazy.