Mom's don't get sick days.

It's been quite a while since I've posted here. Blame it on the flu mainly, but also blame it on creative exhaustion. After my luxurious stay at a friend's house which got me focused into my own writing and creative energy, I'm back to feeling worn out and creatively fizzled. My Muse doesn't even want to be around me much right now. Who can blame her? I spend all my time figuring out how to squeeze a drop of advertising money from a dry well and revising my inventory and sales spread sheet. I stare at my multi-colored post-it-note to do list and feel nothing but questions. And as always happens when I get in this mood I start asking, am I cut out for this publishing life?

Just like a novelist who stares at her half completed manuscript and bemoans that she can't write, I too feel a loss of direction. What am I doing? Why am I doing this? Why don't just I go out and get a job at Starbucks and stop playing with books? Bad enough I try to write my own, now I think I can publish them? I must be insane!

"Yes, you are definitely insane," my Muse says. She snuck up on me while I was writing the above paragraph and rested one long fingered hand on my right shoulder. "But all artists are insane. What makes you think you're any different?"

"I don't feel much like an artist right now."

"I know. You're tired is all. You have a cold and you've been taking care of your sick daughter and haven't had enough sleep. No reason to shut down production."

"Maybe it is. Maybe I can't do it. Taking care of my girl while trying to work and be creative... it's too much."

"And I've never met a mother who didn't feel that way, too." My Muse sits down on the edge of my desk to look at me. "What else would you do?"

"I don't know. Clean the bathroom more often."

She smiles. "You would die of boredom in two days. Maybe less. No, face it my dear, you're an artist, and a mother, and right now you have a cold. Therefore you feel like all you want to do is hide on the couch and watch Northern Exposure reruns with four boxes of tissues."

"Why don't moms get sick days?"

"That's why I'm not a mom. I can't imagine giving up my entire existence to another human being, someone who is needy and whiney and never says thank you for anything you do. And then when they grow up they hate you. Sounds like hell."

I stare at her. "You know exactly what to say to make me feel worse."

"I try." She grins. "Come on. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Turn off this computer and make a cup of tea. Tomorrow you'll feel better and then you can finish up that contract for the new author."

"Oh God. The new author. Can I actually take on another author?"

"This author? Definitely. I have a very good feeling in my bones about her."

"But what if..."

"Enough!" My Muse reaches over and turns off my computer.