Five years ago, before COVID-19 flipped us all on our heads, I wrote two pandemic novels and followed them with a young adult urban fantasy novel. All were over 100k and each was written in exactly 60 days each. I did this while caring for three children under the age of seven as well as my mother who had come to live with us briefly after an illness. My youngest son was about a year old at the time which is, as you might know, the age of baby gate climbing and stair clambering. He was quite the monkey and the cause of more than a few minor coronary incidents. Thankfully, that has lessened ever so slightly over the past few years.
Many people asked me how I managed to write one novel so quickly much less three with my regular obligations as well as constant interruptions. The term I heard the most was “Super Mom”. To tell the truth, only half of that title was accurate. Hint: it’s the ‘mom’ part.
What these people understand is the sacrifices my family endured that allowed me to write at all. Sure, I had a routine. I had goals. I used a writing app that kept me accountable to a minimum daily word count. I obsessively wrote on my “days off”. I challenged myself to write more and more even if I was feeling stressed or rushed. Every little bit counted and boosted my writing self-esteem which, in turn, helped me write even more. If not for these things, I would likely have not managed to finish writing one book much less the five I have completed now or be able to work on the two works in progress I have going right now with any certainty that there will be an end in sight.
All these things played a huge role in paving the way for my success, but I could never have reached my goals had it not been for my mother’s belief in me, my husband’s encouragement as well as taking over more often than not, and my children doing their best to either be children elsewhere or pretend they weren’t children at all. They were no good at the latter, by the way.
My mother died two years ago, but her voice has stayed in my head. I can hear her gently pushing me to “just write a little longer” or asking if I wouldn’t mind “expanding on that last part a bit, love”. It drives me still, as it did with that very first novel, to write just a little more. It urges me to try harder and not give in to any other voice that might tell me that good enough is acceptable.
My husband was a force unto himself during those 180 days. Now, don’t get me wrong; I cooked and cleaned. I took care of my mother and our children, but this man took on a lot more than he was accustomed and definitely more than anyone would have expected any partner to. My husband would work 12 to 16 hour days then come home and, no matter how tired he was, would play with the children, tidy up the messes they had made, and even cook dinner a few times a week just so I did not have to stop writing. Let’s be real here, folks. My husband is the real MVP in my writing success.
For those who have not yet read my first two novels or who haven’t beta read a couple of my other books or listened to me do a reading on Twitter Spaces, you probably have no idea how much I love killing people. Literarily! I promise I’m not a serial killer. Let me tell you, it’s a lot. I have even taken requests from friends who want to be killed in the pages of one of my novels. They love dying for me as much as I love killing them! Again…literarily.
I’ve been jokingly asked how I wrote even one novel without giving in to the frustration that children can cause by just being themselves. While it was worlds easier before COVID-19 when I wasn’t homeschooling on top of everything, it was still difficult. I’d be lying if I said it was easy or that I never once glowered in their general direction and imagined a writing experience devoid of the noise and nonsense that children impart. Yes, I raised my voice at them. Yes, I allowed them more screen time than I normally would have. Yes, there was pizza. A lot of pizza.
I am not Super Mom.
I am just a writer whose family made sacrifices that enabled me to achieve a dream I had never thought possible. My children rolled with the figurative punches. My husband took on an extra role. My mother became my advisor, by beta reader, and my editor.
I had a team and it was super.
I still have a team. I still have children who see me writing and (usually) try to be children elsewhere. I still have a husband who supports and encourages my writing efforts in every way he can. I still have friends and family cheering me on. I have a Super Team and they are how I managed to write three 100k word novels in 180 days. They are how I was able to go on to complete two more equally long novels as well as start two projects that will likely be around 100k words each. My Super Team is how I did and am doing all this without literally killing anyone.
If you aren’t blessed like I am with a built-in Super Team, I’d advise building one for yourself. There are whole communities of writers on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook who will be more than happy to be your cheering squad. Just don’t forget to be theirs.
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