Writing with a kid… writing when around a kid… when a kid is around… I’M TIRED!

I'm part of a novel writing workshop and one of my fellow writers (read: vile competition) just put out a short story collection. Right now he's dropping in on various blogs as part of his e-tour. I'm today's stop, so e-groupies, please be delicate:

This is a guest post from Caleb J Ross, author of the chapbook Charactered Pieces: stories, as part of his ridiculously named Blog Orgy Tour. Visit his website for a full list of blog stops. Charactered Pieces: stories is currently available from OW Press (or Amazon.com). Visit him at http://www.calebjross.com.

I know I’m meant to be a writer; as my wife gave birth, I checked my back pocket for a notebook.

I’m a father, 10 months strong. A boy. During the birth, as my wife lay in a narcotic stupor (an emergency c-section meant she didn’t have to push, meaning I was free of Lamaze coaching duty), I sat atop my stool and tried not to glimpse blood. I stroked her head. I reiterated my love. I was left to worry away other topics, like whether or not I’d be able to satisfy my self-imposed chapter deadline the following day. I missed that deadline.

Of all the changes brought on by fatherhood, truly—and I should be ashamed of this—the one I feared most was the annexing of my writing time. I could deal with most other possibilities. I was warned of sleepless nights, of diapers, of crying, of messes, all the rest. The worst: you won’t have time for anything other than you baby.

Luckily, I’ve found this to be untrue. If anything, I feel like I get more done. Having a child forced me to prioritize in a way that I’ve never before considered. Pre-kid, my delimma was one hour of TV, or three hours of TV. Now, it’s five minutes of TV or five minutes of writing. Usually, the writing wins. I’m never anymore the in-crowd when it comes to popular culture. And I’m fine with that.