There are two camps in my household these days. One camp is trying to finish a book and is on a self-imposed deadline. The other camp is on summer vacation and has no deadlines whatsoever.
The camps are not particularly compatible.
One camp is trying to create compelling, creative prose. The other camp is tearing apart the basement looking for Spongebob goggles that may or may not actually exist.
The first camp is doing her best to create a humorous book of essays, knowing that humor is a delicate, subjective topic that must be crafted with just the right amount of tact and dignity. The second camp is learning to do cartwheels in the living room and shouting things like "Lookit mom!!lookit mom!!lookit mom!!lookit mom!!"
The first camp is realizing why famous writers of old often turned to the bottle or ran away to desert islands to think. And while she won't do either of these things, she also is realizing that deadlines are flexible and kids are only kids once.
The first camp is waving the white flag. The second camp is just wondering why there aren't more Doritos in the house.