“Just a minute.” You continue typing. “Mommy’s writing!”
“I hate you writing!” Feet scurry down the hall.
Guilt lashes at your hands, and the story falters. You go find the child and make breakfast.
Now, an empty nester, you write with the door open.
No one knocks.
You write, “The End,” and text your children.
No one responds.
When your writing students ask for advice, you tell them, “Hold your writing close but your family closer.”