A friend once told me that if you choose to be a freelance writer from home you’ll be more productive in a pair of shoes than in slippers. I’m wearing my ballerina flats right now with the hope that I’ll feel that I’m writing from an office cubicle as opposed to our guest bedroom. “When do you find time to write?” they ask me. I don’t, lately, but I know I must because I feel better about myself and the future of my mind once I’ve assembled a set of sentences a day in addition to a set of Legos. Ideally, I’d write in the mornings with a coffee break at the midway point. But I’ve carved out the mornings now for activities with Mr. Big Eyes. He must be a morning person, too, because he wakes up early and he’s ready to go outside as soon as he sees the front door. Between the demands of my son and my dog, I have no choice but to be out the door every morning in order to relieve everyone of being holed up at home. Which puts me to writing in the afternoon, after I’ve eaten, when I tend to feel most lethargic and sleepy sleepy. I tell myself that I need to write three hours a day, five days a week, and, with any luck, I’ll have a short book by the end of the year. But I have a feeling that won’t happen until Mr. Big Eyes is in school all day. And, frankly, I’m not in a rush to accelerate this chapter in his life. I just have to simmer. The book will come. In the mean time, I’m taking notes.