Last night I finished the last revision of EARTHCROSSER.  After two hours of moaning and hissing, and sometimes laughing right out loud, I lay on the floor with my hands over my eyes.  I felt like I had just given birth, except the pain was all in my head.  My mom had sent me a list of revisions after she read draft 6 and I wanted to get them in while I still had time to rethink, so right after dinner I sat down at the computer.
   “Mom, there’s a slice of cheese on the counter.  Can I eat it?”
   “Yessssss...”
   “Mom, did you say I could use a wire coat hanger to make my butterfly net?”
   “Don’t talk to me right now, pleeeease!”
   “Mom!  Mom!  Can I play on the Nintendo?”
   “Ask your dad.  Whatever he says.”
   The answer should have been no.  It was supremely hard to transport myself seventy-six years into the future in my imagination when my children were talking excitedly over their video game in the other corner of the room.  NEXT TIME I want to write immediately after dinner I will do more than say to Russel, “I’m going to write for a while, is that okay?”  I will make sure the children have something quiet and engaging to do in some location where I can’t hear them.  Better yet, I’ll just remember that I can’t write unless they’re all asleep or all at school.
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