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Date Unknown
Pen at the ready. Paper stacked neatly. Coffee in the plunger. You are ready to write your first novel. A dark, sinister political satire, yes, that'll do the trick. Piece of cake. But first, check for spare pens. And adjust the chair a quarter of an inch. Just so There's a biscuit tin on the desk for snack attacks, a glass of water for rehydration and a hip flask of Single Malt for inspiration. Everything a writer needs is within reach. You can now create your precious baby.
After a quick wee. Too much coffee. We all have a novel in us. Many of us have one, unfinished and cat-nibbled, shoved under the bed waiting for the great day. Yes, that Great Day when we've been stripped of all excuses to dither and can dive into the depths of our creative juices instead of belly-flopping on the surface. The day when the de minimus is cast aside for the magnum opus. When we can emerge from our dens, cringing at the light to slap the rump of a wad of paper and cry, "it's a book!"
Of course, not all authors have the luxury of choosing their distractions. There are those of us who would relish the dilemma of choosing between the coffee plunger and the dish washing to stave off the terror of having to deal with the un-welcoming beast that lurks on the writing desk. For we few, we lucky few, we band of authors, have a distraction so implacable, so relentless, so gobsmackingly ruthless, that nothing can resist its lure.
Some of us have children. Now, a kitchen can be cleaned. A pencil can be sharpened. A laptop can be dawdled through endlessly. But these distractions can be abandoned when the inspiration becomes procrastination. Kids on the other hand, are the one distraction that won't vanish when it's convenient. They'll save you from the blankest papers but when the words come to you, kids aren't interested in indulging your muse. Books may go unwritten but noses can't go unwiped nor swings unpushed, nappies unchanged nor video game bosses unvanquished.
I've got three kids, aged two, four, and eight. Writing a novel in their presence has taught me some interesting lessons about parenthood. First, it is possible to change a nappy with one hand, bounce a toddler on a knee and explain the intricate rules of golf to an eight-year-old while typing witty dialogue. Secondly, word processors do not respond well to soggy Froot loops. Finally, if you want to create a precious baby, change the nappies of the last one.
Don't lose hope. Writing a book with three kids in the house can be done. All it takes is the mastery of Fragmentary Concentration, the delicate technique whereby you can devote total attention to your book in 60-second grabs. Here's a scenario: You're at the table, hand poised with the meaning of life in your mind, ready to be dedicated to print. Suddenly, the two-year-old gallops in full tilt, screeching like a weasel in a steam cooker. There's a brawl on and she's been copping it. The four-year-old, all innocence and fumbled fibs, comes muttering up behind her. It was only a little kick in the heart, honest, and anyway she asked for it. As you listen to their testimonies with all the patience of a Queensland copper, the eight-year-old saunters in and asks if he's old enough to watch Baywatch yet.
This is where Fragmentary Concentration can save you. First, forget the meaning of life in its entirety and retain it in essence. Let the arty adjectives float from your consciousness and keep only the essential thought - "This next bit of Meaning of Life which involves fish and baldness." This done, you can tell the two-year-old to take this Freddo Frog and Ninja-vanish. You can tell the four-year-old that they'll be given to the Salvos if they bother you again and this time you're serious. Then tell the eight year old that he's too old to watch Baywatch and smile as he walks off, scratching his head.
Then, before they return, you can jot the Meaning of Life down on paper. The adjectives will be different, but who cares? Plenty more where they came from. After using this technique, you'll be able to write in the eye of a hurricane. The most important thing to remember is that kids are not the real distraction. The real distraction is writing.
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