But now I write on my phone. I look like I’m texting or scrolling through Facebook. But really, I’m writing. I’m not just making my to-do lists, I’m blogging, writing articles, and yes, writing fiction. With my freaking thumb!
I never thought it was possible. I always thought I had to have a room of one’s own (nope, Virginia Woolf, you just need a smart phone), a desk or a bed, a notebook with lovely ruled pages, a gel pen (or several in pretty colors), or a fast laptop. In fact, in high school, I loved tapping away on my typewriter (today, Addie looks at one and asks me, “what’s that, mama?!”) with sheets and sheets of bond paper next to me that are just the right thickness. Not too thin that they’re cheap and flimsy, not too thick that they’re difficult to roll into the machine. And I thought I needed my typewriter to get the words out, just like I needed my beautiful notebooks, different colored gel pens, and laptop.
But now that I have kids, I can’t afford to be particular about where and how I write. If I were, I’d never write anymore! So this is how I write. On my smart phone, in the middle of a noisy mall, while my baby sleeps in the sling and my six-year-old paints a treasure chest.
But hey, I’m not complaining. I miss making my other nine fingers do the work as well, but it’s better than nothing. And making the most of what I have is what motherhood has taught me. That said, I think I’m a pretty good learner.