The write kind of wrong …

Today marks Collin’s 100th day of being alive. (Technically I am finishing this on day 101, but I started it on day 100, so the post date stays as is. I kind of fell asleep. Whatever.) Realistically, 100 days isn’t a long time, but in a lot of ways, it feels like forever that we’ve had him. Faster than I ever thought was possible, he is growing into this great little person with a great big personality.

In the last week, he has been making really good eye contact, and then smiling (yay), rolling over to both the left and the right (yay -- for now), and has taken up sucking his thumb (not so yay) and pulling Mommy’s hair (really not so yay). He also appears to be starting to teethe, which I suspect means some loud nights ahead.

Considering that I got pregnant in mid-September of last year and found out at the beginning of October, Collin has technically been with us for almost a year. And he’s definitely had an effect on other aspects of my life during that time period.

But I can’t say that my writing -- or lack thereof -- can be solely attributed to my son.

I started “Inside Out” in April 2007 and finished it in June 2007. I began writing “This Ain’t a Love Song” later that month, and kicked off my highly acclaimed holiday fics series in October. In April 2008, I won two Kerth Awards, and kept myself busy with stories throughout the spring and into the summer. In September, I wrote what is to date my last story. And it isn’t even mine.

But more on that later.

More importantly, a month later, I got the answer to my prayers. My first child would be born the following summer.

And while I didn’t realize it at the time, I let go.

I started writing as an outlet for my frustration over my fertility problems. I couldn’t get pregnant, and then I couldn’t stay pregnant. But I could write. And writing made me happy. If I couldn’t be successful in one area, I certainly could be in another. And even better, I had all the control.

But once I actually was pregnant, my focus shifted to picking out strollers and talking to pediatricians and, for 18 weeks, peeling myself off the bathroom floor every morning. And while I have several works-in-progress sitting on my hard drive, and several ideas in my head, today marks exactly one year since I wrote anything (postable).

Every time I opened a blank Word document, I’d sit and stare at it. The words weren’t coming. The characters I once knew so well had become virtual strangers.

It made me wonder: Had I been writing for pleasure -- or as an escape?

It’s not exactly a surprise, given that I hadn’t even watched “Lois and Clark” since December. The idea watching my hero … doing what I had wanted to do since I was 12 … and knowing my journalism career was over … it was just too hard. But after a while, the pain turned into apathy. My priorities had changed. I was going to be a mother. And when it came time to pack my hospital bag, it was my second-favorite show, “Friends,” that I chose to watch during labor.

But it wasn’t just because of my job situation.

A fellow fan has said finding out about Teri and Dean’s affair has ruined the show for her in some ways.

For me, it was my friends.

Everything that went down in 2008 -- being stalked online; finding out that the person responsible for the damage was someone I considered a close friend; realizing that I had been talking with a total sociopath who lied about having children and god knows what else; going to LAFF and the ensuing drama …

Talk about galactically stupid. I should have walked away then, but we all have moments of irrationality -- and assignments to complete.

But the straw that broke the (pink) camel’s back was the fallout of Sept. 7, 2008. A friend of mine was having a hard time in general and an even harder time writing the story she had been assigned for a ficathon. She felt horrible about it -- especially since we had met the person she was writing for in L.A. -- so I stepped in and did something I never thought I’d do. I wrote the story and allowed her to post it under her name -- with some minor tweaks so it would sound more like her.

Talk about a grand gesture for friendship.

Talk about a stab in the back once she found out I was pregnant -- and stopped speaking to me.

Talk about setting off a downward spiral.

On the heels of that treachery, it took me all of two seconds to realize that the last thing I wanted to write was a miscarriage storyline, which is where I had left off in my G&L story. And it didn’t help when I was shut out of the 2009 Kerths, even though what I consider my proudest piece of work had garnered multiple nominations. How could I go from Best New Author to … nothing?

Yesterday’s news, indeed.

And then, in July, a little miracle showed up via E-mail. I was asked to beta read for one of my favorite authors. She hadn’t written any L&C in years, and what she sent over blew me away. Hmm. If she could do it, maybe I could, too.

Shortly after came the nKerths -- and my total and complete shock over having 15 nominations (a feat equaled only one other time in fandom history) -- and not one, but SIX wins, including Best Overall for “Inside Out,” the story that started it all. The little story that started with no plot and turned into a 35-chapter labor of love.

The little story that got me thinking again.

Slowly, I opened Word.

The streak officially ended this weekend. It was raining, I was bored, and I decided to introduce Collin to Lois Lane and Clark Kent. I told him that the show played a large role in Mommy and Daddy meeting, and that no, people couldn’t really fly. I’m not sure how impressed he was, given that he spent most of “We Have A Lot to Talk About” chewing on his fingers, but still, I was doing something that at times I never thought I’d be doing -- watching L&C, the show with which I have so much history, with my son. And, shockingly, I had an idea for a story.

Given that I am even busier now than I was last winter, I was surprised by my ardent fervor to put my idea down on paper (file?).

So what had changed?

For one, I bid the drama farewell back in 2008. And for another, the words aren’t acting as a curtain to hide my pain.

Maybe the time to write is finally right.