Sometimes I have to remind myself that I am a writer.
There are quotes from famous authors about being ruthless with your time to be successful. Ruthless scares me.
If you view your writing as a career, you must approach the keyboard with that attitude. But to be honest, how many of us have the freedom to sit at a desk for eight hours or more, pouring our hearts and souls into the worlds we create?
For the rich and famous, this might work. Perhaps having someone else take care of the house, the errands, and screen phone calls, would make it easy to carve out eight uninterrupted hours to devote to career writing.
For me, this isn't workable. Even living alone doesn't allow me to approach writing with such zeal. Those unexpected phone calls from friends and family are welcome, heartwarming breaks. With my slightly OCD personality, the house must be in order, my desk must be clear, laundry must be washed and dried, emails must be answered, and, of course, there are my morning posts on Facebook, my blogs, my loving cats who crave attention. First thing in the morning is my time with God. Reading His word and preparing myself for the opportunities He will provide, giving thanks for so many things, and praying for those who are in need.
Most of us are serious about our writing. It is a career. However, we must approach our job with flexibility and how it fits into our lives. Everyone is in a different situation. Find a happy balance between life and career. Make the most of the time you find to write. Be joyful in using your God-given talents in whatever ways God provides. Don't let the world dictate what success should mean for you.
- Excerpt from JOSHUA'S HOPE
Loud voices drifted up the stairwell. She opened Joshua's door and slipped inside. His eyes were open. He stared at her, silent tears carving paths down his cheeks. She put a finger on her lips, urging him not to talk. She lifted him and he wrapped himself around her like a small monkey.
"Mommy," he whispered.
"It's all right. Mommy is going to take you home with her now. But you have to be very quiet. Can you do that?"
He nodded against her neck. "I need white doggy."
Hope reached for the stuffed animal she'd given him on his first birthday. The neck fur had been rubbed off in two places from Joshua's fingers. "Mommy will carry white doggy for you. Don't be scared and don't look up. Just hold on tight."
He nodded again, his arms squeezing tighter.
She kept one arm firmly around him and eased the door open. So far, so good. She only needed to get downstairs without being seen.
She closed Joshua's door and began a slow descent.
The hairs prickled on the back of her neck, alerting Hope someone was watching. Swiveling her head, her gaze locked with Anna's. For endless moments, Hope's heart stopped.
Then Peter's study door crashed open and she feared she'd been caught.
Joshua's small body jerked and he began to tremble. His fingers dug deeply into her skin.
The nanny rushed down the stairs, and as she passed, she whispered, "Run." Her hand waved Hope toward the front door.