Nothing defrags the maternal hard drive quite like a weekend with the ladies.
Particularly when that weekend is prefaced by a day of blissful, imagination-drenched, unfettered writing.
I find it difficult to immerse myself in my story at home. There is always something to do instead—kids to “cud-cud”, dinner to make, actual paid writing to do, baths to run, babyjelly tummies to work off, Twitter to waste minutes on. Oh, sorry did I say minutes? I meant hours.
Last weekend I planned to hit Inverloch (about 2 hours drive south of Melbourne) with my “ladies” for a couple of days. These girls are a smashing pack of mummylicious wild things with whom I’ve bonded with through Scout’s school. The weekend usually starts on a Friday night and is packed full of frivolity, raucousness and daiquirising.
I love their company, and find it a red-hot miracle that 8 Gen Xers (all with strong personalities) can co-inhabit a 3 bedroom holiday house for 2 days and nights with no friction, fisticuffs or rolling heads.
I did need the space to write, though. The novel is finally taking shape, things are clear(ish) in my head and now is the time for my writey brain to go into this world and smash out some goddamn WORDS.
So I headed down with one girlfriend late Thursday night and squeezed in a whole freaking DAY of writing–I pumped out 4000 words of pure imagination and plot, sitting on the deck with endless cups of tea whilst my girlfriend sat and finished off her PhD thesis. It was magical. I never get to do that at home—I might get 500 words here, 500 words there, but I got to immerse myself in the whole story without fear of interruption and distraction.
I can’t tell you how invigorated this makes me feel for the rest of the novel—only about 70,000 words to go! That’s ahem, not very much right???
Do you get away to do things you love?