I have a house full of people at the moment, all here to meet the new baby. The new baby is supremely unfazed by this, and feels sleep is the best course of action. I've heard him squall exactly once since he arrived a couple of days ago and, though he did put a scrap of passion into it, it lasted less than five minutes. I'm telling you, this is my kind of baby. Sprog and I, we agree on the finer things of life: namely, sleep. It's important.
All the people makes a nice change to the atmosphere, since last week it was me and the cats. The cats got bored, and I got angry with their whining.1
Having said that, however, the words come harder when I have people in the house. They're all out there in the great yonder otherwise known as the rest of the house, while I am squirrelled away in a quiet corner, attempting to write. I can hear them, talking, laughing, watching movies. It's tricky, staying focussed on the novel, when I'd rather be out there with them.
Sometimes I'll haul the laptop out and attempt to join them while still writing, but it's not always successful. In fact, only when they're watching a movie I've already seen, which is a pretty narrow set of circumstances, all things considered. If there's conversation, particularly conversation over a glass of wine, well. It's all over, rover.
The best solution would be to write, and write quickly, so I can join them without a guilt-monkey on my back, of course.
- It's worth noting that the cats are now whining about being chased about by the toddler, and are claiming they'd rather be bored. It appears my cats are not zen kitties, but whiny kitties. [↩]