Summer in New York: On Books and Babies

I love it. 

I love the heat. I love walking down the street in a tank top or a sundress, feeling the sun on my skin, feeling sweaty just walking up the subway stairs. I love Sangria at a sidewalk table, rooftop barbecues, and lazing around in the park. I love how the stifling heat of my apartment makes me want to get outside—rather than be a hermit and escape the cold.

This summer has been especially great for me because I’m thiiiiiis close to having my novel ready for agents. Another two weeks to a month should do it—and I couldn’t be happier. This is a huge change from a month ago, when I felt like I could never write anything anyone would want to read, had zero talent or ability, and should really just give it all up and crawl in a hole somewhere. I was in a seriously dark place.

My sister in law just gave birth, and I went up to visit the baby for a week. The whole time, I watched her and my brother take care of their beautiful new baby boy—feed him, rock him, read to him, and keep him happy every minute of the day, including late into the night. 

Now, I'm sure people who have actually been parents will roll their eyes to hear me say this--and tell me that writing a book is nowhere near as hard as taking care of a child. But I couldn't help being reminded of what that process was like for me when I was in the last throes of getting my book from messy wreck of a draft to something readable.   I cut out everything else in my life. I stopped going out. I stopped acting. All there was in my life was my novel, and paying the rent. I barely had time to shower.

I’ve written before about how my biological clock is attuned to cats. (I really, really want a kitten. Two kittens, actually. Maybe five.) I haven’t written seriously about how I don’t want to be a parent. But maybe that feeling in me isn’t as simple as negating something. Maybe it’s just that I’ve chosen another kind of parenthood. The kind that’s more about books than babies.This isn't to say that I think you can't be both. There are probably lots of people out there who balance it beautifully. I'm just pretty sure I wouldn't be one of them. 

I love my nephew, and I can’t wait to watch him grow up. I feel a little more relaxed around kids—my brother says I just need practice. I still feel solid and sure about my decision not to have kids. But I've come to see this as choosing a different kind of parenthood.  Some people are just creatively fertile. I hope I turn out to be one of them.