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I was just going to post this in my review reply thread but then it's more of a rant than anything else so here it goes...

I realize that I'm not making any money writing my little stories but even a hobby deserves some respect when a person is really into it, don't you think? I mean my writing is the only thing that keeps me sane.

I have a house full of men and boys that I have to contend with all day, every day. Don't get me wrong, I love my family but seriously, I never get a minute to myself these days. I live in a country where though I speak the language, I'm still viewed as an outsider so have few really good close friends and none that I feel would be comfortable about what I write to talk about my stories with. I'm thousands of miles from my family and everything that is normal and comforting to me. Yeah, I got skype and a phone that enables me to talk to them whenever I want but really since I'm not a part of their daily life, we don't have too much to talk about other than how everyone is and what the weather is like. So that leaves me with my imaginary friends, the ones that come out when I write, which makes them extremely important to me.

I don't have a place to write, no office or bedroom where I can retreat to for peace and quiet. You'd think in a house that has three floors and a bunch of space that I would but as always I put everyone else's needs and wants before my own, which is why we have a home gym and a room for the pool table. Even if I did have, it would just be that much further for me to walk to what ever problem I was needed to solve. I write while sitting on the couch in the family room. This means that I am in the center of the action at all times. So just to give you an idea of how it usually goes, I'll recount my experience from last night.

It started after the family had finished supper. The two youngest were on dish duty so I refereed that farce for over a half an hour while trying to write the final chapter on one of my stories. My hubby works from home for an American company so this means he works from 3pm to midnight our time. I'm sort of his unofficial secretary so I get bellowed at at least 20 times a night to run up the stairs and do something for him. So of course he hollers and I run only to come back down to the little one's throwing bubbles at each other making the kitchen even messier than when they started but I'm a firm believer in kids doing chores to learn responsibility and all that jazz so I make them clean up the mess while I settle down to write once again.

In comes the oldest and he has this youtube video that I simply must watch so he commandeers my computer so that I can watch a video that I don't even get but laugh because I'm also a firm believer in sharing your kids interests because a lot of times they open up to me while doing something stupid like watching Jimmy Fallon videos. He wanders off and I write undisturbed for all of ten minutes. Up the stairs again to change the laundry and help the hubby when he realizes I'm on the same floor as him.

Now the two little ones are done with the dishes and since they do their homework right after getting home from school, they have free time until bedtime at 9pm. They fight until I threaten bodily harm over who gets the PS4 first, now keep in mind that they each have a computer and a phone that have games on them so it's not like they only have the damn PS4 to entertain them. So once they figure out the order of play, the sounds of some zombie game or other start blaring through the room. I grab the remote and turn it down to the point where our eardrums are no longer in danger of bursting.

In comes our, let's call him roommate for this diatribe, and he sits on the couch and proceeds to initiate a conversation with me to which I have to pay total attention too or else I'll get the stink eye for the rest of the night. When he's expounded on the reasons we need to start looking for an internet provider up at our cabin (we're finally getting electricity, yay) he sits back and just stares at me. I sigh and ask him if he wants a cup of coffee because it's about that time. I go make coffee for the three adults and he finally buggers off.

The youngest is obsessed with singers, Bruno Mars and Big Time Rush, so he's next to me on the couch with his phone blaring music while he tells me useless facts about the above mentioned until I feel a bit ashamed of how much I know about five twenty something boys. I write while listening to him but I can tell that what's coming out is not right so I erase a bunch of it and start over. Up the stairs again to help the hubby.

I get back and everything's pretty much the same in the family room. Five minutes after I sit down the second oldest comes out and plies me with useless facts about the Ottoman Empire, no he's not studying it in school he's just a dork. I listen with what I'm sure is a glazed look on my face until he peters out and starts in on Norse gods. I tune him out because he's content to talk while I type some. While he's in the room with me, the oldest takes it upon himself to go into his room and change the password on his computer so when the second oldest goes back into his room and discovers his brothers prank, I have another battle to stop before it turns into a full out war. They go to their separate corners and there is peace once again.

Upstairs again to help the hubby. I sit back down and enjoy the relative peace of bad pop music and zombie's dying. I'm actually getting something done in between the trips up the stairs. The hubby comes down because sometimes he just gets sick of sitting up in his office all alone watching TV. He sits on the couch and finds this wooden recorder that I've cleverly hidden in the couch cushions the last time one of the kids was blowing on it and driving me nuts. He stares at it for a bit and then starts blowing on the damn thing. He can't play it, it's just noise, really loud and annoying noise.

After about two minutes, I turn to him and say, "Could you please stop that, I can't concentrate."

To which he replies, "Concentrate on what? You need to concentrate to sit on the couch now?" He laughs himself silly and even relays his witty comment to the roommate who joins in with his own laughter.

I'm pissed because that's what they see when they look at me - someone that spends a great deal of time sitting on the couch. I don't imagine that I'll win a Pulitzer for my work or even ever make any money on it but the fact that I write like I'm getting paid for it should get at least a smidgen of respect, right?

*steps off soap box to sit on her couch*

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We need a writer's retreat, all of us.

I made signs for my desk, which is in the living room. The signs are mostly polite variations of "Fuck off, I'm working." The signs are universally ignored by all and sundry, who then all claim, loudly, that they are the only ones who let me work.

The truth?

The only one who lets me work in peace is my autistic Youngerspawn, who is actually quite content to go fuck off, as long as I return the favor and leave him alone.

My mother needs me every 5 minutes or so to open something for her, fix her COPD inhaler, check the icemaker, listen to her talk about a tv show I don't watch, order her books, or answer the same damned questions I've been answering all day.

My daft one needs me to read his emails and fix them, listen to him rant about the co-op (he's board president), listen to him rant about his job, listen to his plans to boost in the local free wifi so we can have Internet at the lake, and stroke his ego by letting him take credit for the stuff I actually do for him.

My Elderspawn was obviously inoculated with a stereo needle (I'm old enough to remember vinyl when it was new). I get treated to the daily discourse on being trans, the daily bitching about diabetes, the stories about the new GF, plans to learn to cook, drive, clean, and fend for oneself, and then I referee argument between Elderspawn and the daft one, which usually end with Elderspawn in tears and Youngerspawn asking when Elderspawn is moving out.

Youngerspawn ignores us all, except when he wants to tell me something, at which point the daft one criticizes something and Elderspawn launches into a long discourse on how Elderspawn handled that exact same thing via a video game reference.

And when I finally snap, they all look at me like I'm insane.

Wait for summer. I'm hiding at the lake place and not taking any of them...just my wine and my new laptop that the daft one doesn't know he is buying for me yet. :lol:

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Next time I get to feel a little lonely in my wee apartment, I'm going to come back and reread this. If this is the other side of the coin I wouldnt survive it. Well, somebody wouldnt anyway. Everybody needs some proper respect and at least some breathing space, for christs sake.

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Oh! We're trading war stories!

I don't believe I'm that bad off after reading those stories; I honestly think that I would be in jail for murder if it got that bad!

But I do know a thing or two about not getting some free time to myself...

After attempting to write it out, I honestly don't have it as bad as you guys. But my schedule and the people in it are demanding, to the point where I've seriously thought about just saying "fuck it" and go away for a week. What stops me is that there would be no one to take my step dad to work, no one to wash the tyrant's clothes and no one to take my mom to her doctor's appointments.

Trust me: we left the tyrant alone for nine days. We came back to a tornado's aftermath... I can't leave him alone for more than a day after that...

My problem is the timing is off when I get in the mood to write. It's like people get Spidey Senses when that happens: my phone rings off the hook, my mom is yelling for something, the tyrant is yelling for me to either listen to him talk about something I have zero interest in or come watch something or do something for him because the gods forbid he has to use his fingers to type or pick something up or the step dad needs to be picked up from work. Never fails...

And like CL said: writing is my passion. Grant it, I don't get the reads like the rest of you guys but I take joy into doing something that I'm decent at. Is it that hard to get a bit of respect for doing it...?

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I've decided my karmic lesson this lifetime is Patience. I'm not sure how I'm doing, but I have a feeling this isn't my first go-around with this lesson, and it probably won't be my last. :lol:

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It's funny because I wasn't all that pissed about everything that happened that night, it was a pretty normal evening to be honest but what pissed me off was the hubby's comment at the end. I'm still smarting over that.

Sometimes I just need to vent and there are certain people in my life that just tell me either, you chose to have a family, which I did and don't regret it (that much) or they tell me how blessed I am that I'm needed and loved. :P It's nice to know that there are others that get where I'm coming from because they have similar situations.

And Ko, it's not a competition everyone has their own little hell to deal with and you do deserve respect for your passion, as I do mine, even if nobody realizes it... yet. *insert evil laugh* Payback's a bitch especially when it's dealt out by the bitch.

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Damnit... I forgot to put in a little face after that sentence; that wasn't meant to be taken seriously!

My mouth did drop when I read what your husband said. Especially since there are quite a few of us who look forward to your stories and you're wanting to get quite a few published (I believe...?). It reminds me so much about my mom. She has a clue that I write, something that I've never hid from her. But when I had mentioned that I needed to work on one of my stories, her response is almost always "Wait, you write books?" :bash:

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