My laptop’s battery died.

That’s how long it had been since I turned it on.

Now, as a writer, this feels horrifying, like I’ve somehow let down the castle gates and the dark trolls of laziness snuck in behind me.

On the other hand, as a father, it lets me know I’m doing my job well.

Because, how do you turn away from this face?

Or this one?

Clearly, not happy.

I gave myself a week. 2020 came, kicking the door in with prospects of WWIII, and I said a week. One week was enough time to remind myself, “Hey, you’re still a new dad. You don’t have this completely figured out yet. You want to keep writing but sometimes that isn’t always going to be possible and making a huge commitment that only falls apart because you have to change 4700 diapers a day is not good for your mental health. Take a week and think about what you really want.”

I’ve been a dad. Now I want to be a Writer Dad.

My tutoring schedule has been greatly reduced, allowing me to spend afternoons taking care of the boys.

Where does the writing fit in? Well, as of writing, right now one of them is feeding and the other is about to wake up from his 92 minute nap. (They’re in the middle of a growth spurt so sleep is minimal and eating is MAXIMAL.) I found my moment and I took my shot. This short blog is my writing. Later on, it’ll be setting up my 2020 Bullet Journal for the year. I’m using a Leuchtturm 1917 with lined paper.

I’m going to become a writer. To do that, I write. Whenever I can. If I have a moment, if I don’t completely feel like the walking dead, if my hands can clack on a keyboard and my fingers can pick up a pen, then I will do what I can.

Let’s start small. Daily: 15 minutes with a notebook. 15 minutes at a computer. I can do that. My boys should allow me do to do that. If I can do more, great, if I can’t, also great. But I will expect nothing more from this Writer Dad than 15 minutes with a pen & paper and 15 minutes with an open Notebook document.

Happy 2020.

I’m gonna uppercut it in its stupid face.

Thanks for reading,

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