The Ultra-Glamorous Life of a Writer

A Day in the Life . . .

1. I wake unconscionably early to take our oldest son to the school bus. He manages six grumpy words to me: "Can you pick me up today?"

2. I return home to find our adorable cat, who has deplorable aim, has piddled outside her litter box . . . again. While cleaning up, the strong ammonia odor nearly kills me.

3. Then a horrid discovery in the washing machine -- youngest son's juggling ball. The ridiculously expensive one he worked all summer to buy. "It's ruined!" he screams. I ignore his implication that this is my fault (even though he actually blames his brother) because with children, everything from pimples to poor grades to nuclear proliferation is my fault.

4. After laying the wet juggling ball in the sun to dry, we manage to get out the door so I can drive said youngest son to school. After he leaves the car, he turns to me and says six grumpy words: "I left my lunch at home." For some reason, I know this, too, is my fault.

5. Back home, after walking the dog, feeding both pets, making phone calls, cleaning cat vomit off the carpet and resisting the strong urge to take a nap or slam back a mojita or BOTH (but not in that order), I eat son's forgotten lunch -- surprisingly good -- ignore the large pile of dirty laundry and even larger pile of unpaid bills beside me and begin writing.

I wonder if J. K. Rowling begins her day this way.