The funny thing about being a writer is that my fiction often knows things about me before I do. For example, one of the characters in my debut novel,is a thirteen-year-old girl with ADHD named Greyson. Her personality is heavily informed by my own teenage self, and yet it never occurred to me that perhaps Greyson and I were so much alike becauseIt started off when I became concerned about the degree to which I couldn’t stop thinking about writing.
But in reality, my life was spinning out of control. I was so stuck in my head, it didn’t feel like I had a life at all. Sometimes I’d go a week without clean underwear because I was too busy writing to deal with dirty clothes. The kicker? I didn’t even have tomy husband I needed my laundry done. other than writing
I assumed I was just selfish and lazy. Why else would I continually devote more time to writing than to my family? I wasn’t even on a deadline. No one was waiting for this book. Why else was I unable to remember when my kid had wacky hair day at school? Why else did I let bills I actually had the money to pay go to collections?