The Perils of a Write-At-Home Mom

Please help us welcome S.J. Drum.

Being a mother is kind of like living inside an asylum. I love my children, but no matter the time of day, someone's crying, someone's yelling, someone's drooling, and it isn't out of the question to walk into a room and find shit smeared on the wall.

Contrary to popular belief, taking "me time" for a stay-at-home mom does not translate into taking time to scrub dirty dishes, mop floors or fold laundry while a toddler screams at you because the thousand toys inside his room aren't enough to keep him occupied for thirty minutes. Nothing makes being on your knees cleaning a smelly toilet more fun than having to do it while two little people are crying and making more messes on the other side of the hallway.

You think being a writer while also holding the title of stay-at-home mom sounds like fun? Well, it is. But-- and there's always a 'but'--it also takes an insane amount of dedication that borders on obsession. Don't believe me? Here's a little story on the perils of a writing mother ...

One afternoon, after my children had been fed, cleaned and played with until I couldn't take one more round of build-the-blocks-and-knock-them-down, I put the baby down for a nap (which she thankfully accepted) and put the toddler in his room for some quiet time so I could slip into another room and get a few words written.

After thirty minutes of complete silence, I was riding high. I was thinking things like "My kids are being so good. I can't believe how quiet my toddler is being. He's never this quiet for this long."

And then I shot up out of my seat. My toddler is NEVER that quiet for that long unless it's the middle of the night. Something was amiss.

I dashed to his room and before I even got close, I smelled it. Shit. Literally.

My child had silently removed all of his clothes, taken a huge dump, and proceeded to paint his wall, his baby gate, his door, his toys, and every freaking inch of his carpet with poop. Why? Because I took thirty minutes to do some work.

Was the work I accomplished in those thirty minutes worth the gag-inducing mess that took an hour to clean up? Or the hour it took me to drive to my parents' house and borrow their carpet cleaner? Or the two showers and a bath it took to get my poop covered toddler clean?

No. No, it wasn't.

So, I've adapted. If I must do work while my children are awake, I will never again be outside of seeing (or smelling) distance.

Do you have a stay-at-home mom / write-at-home mom horror story? Let's hear it!

Buy A LIFE BEYOND YESTERDAY, written under my pen-name Clara LaVeaux, and enter to win a FREE Kindle Fire! Check my blog on the release day, February 7th , for Contest Rules and Entry Info. Happy Reading!

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Blurb:

"Young mother and recent widow, Amelia Gauge, moves cross-country with her son in search of a new life in A Life Beyond Yesterday. She soon realizes life outside of the Rural Midwest is filled with deceit, danger and, too rarely, kindness. Between falling in love and fighting for her life, how will Amelia find the strength to keep her son safe and survive this new, complicated world?"

A LIFE BEYOND YESTERDAY, written under the name Clara LaVeaux, will be released by Eternal Press on February 7th, 2012.

The Mysterious Mystery of the Elusive P-O-O-P

Help us welcome S.J. Drum today.

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Romance Authors have accomplished a feat the likes of which the real world cannot ever hope to achieve. I’m writing, of course, about the complete and utter eradication of Poop.

Am I the only person who, while reading romances, thinks about poop?

A common occurrence of “the Elusive Poop” is a story in which the heroine is handcuffed to a cot for two weeks and there is no mention of where she did number two or what happened to it after the evil deed was done. Even if she was nearly starved, sometime in those fourteen days she had to take a deuce.

If this situation occurred in real life, would the hero stumble over a bucket full of feces while attempting to rescue the heroine? I think I might be so mortified by the thought of a sexy warrior witnessing the aftermath of tainted water and non-existent restroom facilities that I would be wishing against rescue …

While I completely appreciate the need for brushing aside the unpleasant details of human body functions, I still find myself wondering about them while reading. I too write romances. I have not, and do not, intend to ever include the subtle nuances of uncontrollable, stress-induced, ass-blasting diarrhea.

Still, I find myself contemplating the pooping situation in nearly every book I read. In historical romances, where the hero and heroine often travel together for days and days at a time, I ask you … When did they poop? Was there a discussion? “Och, Lass. Doona mind the sounds. Me needs to leave a growler in yon bushes …”

I also think about poop whenever anal sex is introduced into a story. While I admit that I’m not experienced in the ways of anal sex, I believe if I were approached with the proposition, poop would be my very first thought. Yet, no one seems concerned with this when the impromptu butt-loving is initiated.

Am I to believe that the untried, inexperienced heroine isn’t worried about what the hero will find when he dips his stick in her dark tunnel? Am I to believe that the perpetrator of this act, the hero, has not one single moment of hesitation when he wonders if there’s a double-decker knocking at the other side of his woman’s round door? Has this ever happened? Has a penis ever been denied entry to the Exclusive Anal Club by reason of “full occupancy”? I do not know. Perhaps someone could enlighten me.

Do not misunderstand, I have no wish to write a scene which includes such details nor do I want to read a scene that includes them. I’m merely pointing out the lack of poop in the fictional world of romance as an object of consideration. Am I alone in noticing? Do you question when, where, and how pooping is accomplished?

If only reality could be more like fiction. Without poop, the world would be a peaceful place, devoid of cart-filling, bank draining bundles of 4ply toilet-paper and smelly gas station restrooms. If life could eliminate poop, no wife would have to endure being asked, “So, you wanna do it?” Directly after hearing the harmonic sounds of her husband laying a log cabin in the thin-walled bathroom. Stomach cramps would never attack on a first date, rendering a woman incapable of a graceful exit. Without poop, all the adventurous lads and ladies out there could enjoy unplanned anal sex without fear of encountering the much lamented brown roadblock.

*Sigh* If only life were like fiction …

I’d like to thank Four Strong Women for inviting me to Guest Blog and also extend an invitation for everyone to stop by my personal blog, Supernaturally Challenged. If you like quirky rants about everything from publishing to parenting, you’ll love my blog.

I am currently working on an Urban Fantasy series, SURPRISINGLY SUPERNATURAL, under the name SJ Drum. I also have a Women’s Fiction novel set to be released through Eternal Press in February 2012 entitled A LIFE BEYOND YESTERDAY , written under the pen name Clara LaVeaux.