The thing about writing for a living is that the very last thing I want to do for myself is write. It’s a bummer, because I’m writing mentally all the time anyway.

As I go about my day, I’m composing intro sentences and blog post topics and story ideas, all in my head. I find myself drowning in inspiration – a mouthy kid here, a drama queen there. Observations about working from home, about sanctimonious moms, lax moms, family drama – it’s all great fodder for parenting articles. I don’t write many of those, MPMK aside, but I should.

One of my clients, looking to boost visibility with inbound links, offered to pay me for click-throughs to things I’ve written for their site. They sent me a list of parenting blogs that accept articles, and the higher the domain authority, the bigger of a kickback I’ll get. In theory, it sounds ideal – motivation to get the stuff I’m writing in my head all the time actually down on paper (actually, the screen) + byline on multiple new sites + paycheck = good business decision.

So what’s the problem?

By the time I check off my to-do list for all the usual suspects, I’m so sick of my laptop I can’t wait to put it away. And even when I block off time to sit and write these pieces, or to send pitch ideas, those fickle creative juices aren’t always cooperating.

For now, I jot down notes in my beloved Rifle Paper Co. notebooks (cliche? Don’t even care) to jolt my memory next time I arrange a few hours of solo coffee shop time with the hope of some productivity. For some reason, I can write all day long about industrial real estate, fitness, nutrition, martial arts, metal roofing, even emergency showers and ANSI compliance with two little kids tearing shit up. But the second I try to write about those little monsters while I’m running the mom show, it all shuts down on me. Weird, right?

One day, I’ll have six glorious hours five days a week to check things off my list, without interruptions for snacks or help with the remote or the bathroom. The idea thrills me even as I wish that time would slow the hell down. My youngest will be two in July, and while I’ve been there for basically every second of her life, I still can’t believe that’s right.

Maybe one day I’ll get to those parenting articles, when I’m not so busy living them.

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