Do you ever wonder how we manage to stay sane, to actually write something coherent and/or even think about plot lines when there's all this crazy LIFE stuff happening? My husband has crowned me the Queen of Overcommitment. With blithe insouciance I say, "Of course, I'll be glad to help." So now, I'm the Retreat Chair for my chapter which wrapped up a week ago (but is still lingering in the stacks of stuff in my laundry room,) then I took snacks to my son's ball team Sunday, we had company for Sunday dinner after the game, and foolishly I cooked instead of ordering pizza; and that was just this weekend. It doesn't even begin to cover all the stuff that needs to be done in the house. Yikes. Laundry. Changing light bulbs that have burnt out one by one until it is now pitch dark in the bathroom (now I HAVE to do it.) Planting stuff in the garden.
Yeah, right. That'll happen.
Somehow, though, in the midst of the craziness of being the homework Nazi, chief cook and bottle washer, laundress extraordinaire, and the other stuff I do and get paid for, I still write. I can't NOT write. It's just there lurking, like malaria. I'd like to say I'm organized, that I schedule time to write and somehow, like Martha Stewart, I get it all done brilliantly and with a bow tied neatly on top. Sure. Right. In this lifetime? I don't think so.
The characters or ideas show up and I ignore the fact that there are no clean socks for baseball practice, and I give up on the chicken I'd thawed for dinner. I lose myself in the world I've created, playing with the characters in my head. Then there's the villain. Don't you just love the villain? I do. I get to use all the snarky things I wish I could say to the clerk or the car repairman or the guy who cut me off in traffic. Since I can't in good conscience shoot anyone for being an idiot in traffic, I get to dispose of their body in an undisclosed location in the pages of my book. I also burn all his or her laundry and trash their car. I've even done away with my ex-husband three or four times, in various creative, sometimes heinous, ways. Excellent therapy. Oh, and did I mention I leave absolutely no clue or forensic evidence?
Hehehe. Works for me.
What's your therapy for the mundane "must do's, but hate to do 'em's"? If you're a writer, does your villain come from life and the news or from all your own frustrations? You know my deep dark secret...tell me yours...