This is a piece I found as I was going through my files. I didn't know it at the time but when I wrote it I was only two days away from giving birth to my first son (he was three weeks early.)
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The past week I have been working on interview questions for a writer who put in a lot of work over the years, much of it based on painful personal experiences, and then recently experienced a wave of success, a lot of it in the form many writers imagine being the pinnacle of commercial and popular success. Her motto, to other writers, is "write like a motherfucker." [2016 note: It was Cheryl Strayed. We had to reschedule our interview because I was in the hospital when we were scheduled to talk.]
The thing about writing for me is that when writing feels easy, it's the best and when it's hard, it feels like the wrong thing. In my head I know this doesn't quite make sense though because the writing I've put in over the years hasn't all been easy, it hasn't all been fun. But I often have a vision in my head of a "serious writer" who buckles down and locks herself in her office for hours and gets lost in the words, taken by the muse. She's not someone who writes when she's bored at work and takes frequent Facebook breaks and who writes about what's going on in her head at that exact moment: she has big ideas and themes and important stuff going on. [2016 note: Thanks to a wonderful network of writers I have cultivated I've realized we all get bored at work and take frequent Facebook breaks and nobody I am friends with talks seriously about the muse--thank god!]
It felt like--and maybe things were--easier a few years ago when I happened to be writing during a time of writey zeitgeist. I started a website for my own pleasure and happened to turn it into something bigger through hard work but also ego (people were reading it so I would give them something to read). It got some attention and suddenly agents were coming to me, because bloggers who could write made sense to savvy agents. This all seemed easy, again. Then I tried writing a book which was a dream I'd had since I was, oh, about 13 or so and had read The Outsiders and realized that S.E. Hinton had written the book at an absurdly young age. Writing was hard again when it became apparent that I didn't have a blog that turned easily into a book. I had a book idea that didn't turn easily into an actual, sellable book, but eventually it did.
The funny thing is that I tell myself now that it was easy, because an agent came to me, because I was put in touch with a wonderful editor who took a chance on me and read my stuff. But I know it wasn't easy either: the editor said "I can't even look at this book seriously until you fix a, b, c and x, y, z" and it took over a year to make those changes. And even after that, it took work and more work. I guess it seems easy now because in retrospect it all lead to something.
Since then I have semi-written a book that my agent didn't like and mostly-writtren another book that my agent liked but couldn't sell, and then decided to throw all my weight behind a third book that my agent decided he didn't want to be my agent over anymore. And now I'm back to Square 0, because at least at Square 1 agents were coming to me. I still think the book I'm working on is my book but who knows, I could be wrong. [2016 note: I was wrong.] I have learned that it won't kill you to write a book and have it go nowhere but it's not incredibly awesome, either. [2016 note: Working on another book that could potentially go nowhere.]
As a writer, big picture, I cannot complain. I get paid to curate the site I started for fun, for free. I get published and paid. More importantly, I do all these things and have a happy personal life.
But this baby is coming (back to me writing about the right now and not the long haul) and it's hard not to think as I did as I got married, that this is a turning point in terms of age, zeitgeist and ambition. When things were "easy" I often envied my friends and colleagues, which is a trerrible feeling to have but can be useful as well, when you can apply it practically. "Lindsay published in GQ and I want to publish in a magazine so how can I make that happen?" "John sold a book and I think I can too." But I'm not sure right now what That Thing is that I need tro chase, other than publishing this other book. Knowing that I've done it already steals a bit from the hunger of it, though. I could die and say I published a book I cared about. I would be bummed if I never published this other book but I know it wouldn't be all that.
After the kid, will I still have ambition? [2016 note: No. Just kidding. Lighten up, 2012 me!] I will have less time and less idle brainspace. I wrote this at 7:30 on a Wednesday morning becuase I randomly woke up early and decided to write for a few minutes insread of checking my email (even though I have a new one) or my Twitter (even though I have 3 responses) or doing a workout video. This type of free time is going to be much harder, if not impossible to come by. And will I even have the idea to come to anyway?
I'm hoping, maybe foolishly, that the birth will bring me to some new and mature place as a writer. Where perhaps I will cherish my free time more instead of frittering it away on social media and Pop-Up Video reruns as I do now. And maybe it will give me new ideas. And new ambitions. Because I otherwise have to figure something else out, and I'm not sure I'm up for that. But maybe I am. Whatever happens, this will all probably seem easy in retrospect.
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Final 2016 thoughts: Nah, not really. Yes, 2012 me certainly had an easier time of things physically, but something I've learned after having kids is that one's ability and time is not like a metal bucket that can only hold so much. Instead, it's more like a balloon. My capability has grown and expanded over time. I can get a lot more done in a lot less time. The shape of my ambition has also changed. I have gotten over the idea of having "One Big Goal." I have a lot of different goals. Making money is one. Someday having a byline in a certain publication is another. Publishing another book is still there! And just feeling fulfilled in general--if I had 3 working good days out of 5, I'm ahead. Even 2 is pretty good.
Having my first kid was a real kick in the head--it took me a long time to adjust to it. The funny thing though was that my creativity didn't seem to suffer during the time. While I certainly felt bowled over and exhausted and depressed, writing helped me sort through those feelings. Parenthood taught me how to prioritize as well, which helped break me of saying yes to things I didn't really want to do. And I just feel like I take myself a lot less seriously nowadays. You have to when you go through situations like somebody throwing up in your hand because he's so upset that you won't give him any chocolate after dinner.
So, if you're a creative childfree person wondering if having kids will cripple your career, I say no! It's certainly not going to get easier, but when was it ever easy to begin with?