It’s happened again. I tried to deny it. But in the harsh glare of the morning light I couldn’t ignore it any longer. I’d laid in bed for half the night in a semi-sleep/semi-conscious state thinking of characters and plots for children’s stories.
Can it be only two days ago that my glorious sobriety came to an end after nearly ten months of controlling myself from writing children’s stories? I tried to maintain self-control. I honestly did. I just can’t seem to do it. I tell myself, “Well, one little one won’t hurt me. I can stop any time.” Then I find myself on all-night binges, spending money like a drunken sailor on concept drawings, editing, storyboards, illustrations, interior layout, cover design. My spirit is willing, but my mind is weak. Once I allow myself to even think about writing children’s stories, the ideas gush out like a flash flood bursting through the carefully constructed dams of self-control and my family’s spending budget as though they were made of twigs.
I had to quit writing children’s stories cold turkey last year when the monthly costs exceeded all other family expenses except our house payment, and were climbing fast. And now, all those glorious months of sobriety have come to an inglorious end, with the simple but devastating thought, “A little one won’t hurt me…”