As I often say here on this blog (and in real life), stick with me a minute and I'll make it worth your while--hopefully.
In the present version of my life I am the major caretaker for my now three-year-old son and also the homemaker. Not Mr. Mom or stay-at-home-dad but a homemaker. Since my wife's career has taken off and she is the main breadwinner, it's a no-brainer. I'm learning to cook in a most efficient manner, and do laundry without killing the clothes. The house could be cleaner, but HEY!
If you are a struggling writer, filled with the desire to write and actually want people to read what you wrote, you need time, and lots of it.
Well, as the newest version of my life ramped up, my time to write kept shrinking until I was about to kill it and throw the body off the end of the pier. NO, not my family--my dreams of writing. Don't pick up the phone to call the authorities on me just yet. I know where my priorities lie and I love my wife and little boy more than anyone or anything. Including writing.
I just couldn't do it though. I couldn't kill the writing, bug, dream, passion, gift, vision or whatever you want to call it. SO, I had to make it fit within my life.
I have written on trains, model and real, in parks and playgrounds, at museums and while my son slept in my lap. I have penned some good words while I was holding one end of a Hot Wheels track or playing trains on his elaborate wooden track. I have edited my book while cooking dinner or waiting for the clothes in the dryer to fluff for the tenth time.
The great thing is, we now have iPads. iPhones and all kinds of technological marves that make it possible.
I never thought I could write outside of dedicated time, but I have done it. Now it's like breathing.
This is not a, hey look at me (well maybe a little since we writers are a narcissistic bunch). This is a slap, shove or pat on the back to say, "Keep writing!" No matter your situation, don't let your ifestyle dictate your destiny.