More writing. Less dwelling.
Since Little O’s been born, time feels like a series of pockets. Zipped up most of the day, then flung open in hour increments when he naps. When he finally (finally) rests his bright red hair on the alphabet sheet and ends his day, it feels like my work day begins. It’s in the evenings and late into the night that I sit down to work or write. This is no different from when I worked full time at a day job. In some ways, there’s more time because the day isn’t spent drowning i
