The very unglamorous margins of my days

This is what writing looks like for me

Billy took a photo of me that I can’t stop thinking about.

I’m in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet. (Don’t worry — the lid’s closed, and I’m fully clothed!) Behind me, our daughter is in the tub. You can’t see her, but there’s a jumble of colorful bath toys, the flash of a happy little foot. I’m holding the manuscript of my novel-in-progress, marking it up with red ink, trying to keep an eye on both my edits and my child.

I’m wearing an old t-shirt, shorts, and dorky ankle socks. My hair’s a mess.

I should probably show you the photo. It’s not exactly flattering, but it’s real.