(⬆️Not slop, created by my daughter)

10 years ago, I would never have thought this would be a problem- the idea of slop connections. The ability to simulate interest, or understanding, in a way that feels almost real. It goes beyond looking at a photo created by an AI, beyond the uncanny valley--it is when intimacy itself feels uncanny.

There’s a fine line between manipulation and simulation, simulation and imitation, and I think that’s the ethical line people are crossing that feels so unnerving.

For example, at least once a week I now get an email pitch that appears tailored, quoting my writing, calling it lyrical, citing its influence, and then telling me that it is failing to reach the optimal readership--it could be so much more; it should be so much more. When you dig deeper into this pitch, get their five-point AI-generated plan to optimize algorithmically, it almost makes sense and probably is compelling to a lot of people. But it gets to the problem with AI-generated communication in general--it is a simulation of engagement, interest, and focus.

This touches on issues our culture is facing, an existential cliff we are clinging to, but for me, it reminds me what it means to be human and a writer. It isn’t about optimizing readership or gaming a system. It is finding connection. True connections are rarer than we might want, and deep connections are more valuable than we might realize, but connections are what uncanny communication can’t provide.

As we move towards this optimized new reality mediated by AI, I hope that we don’t forget what makes reality so special--connections.

Best,

Melissa

(⬆️Me with one of my most important connections)

I haven't written awhile and it is because I have been knee deep in homeschooling my 9 year old daughter and general family fun this summer. But I wanted to share some thoughts I have had on AI and raising children.

You may have heard the phrase “go touch grass.” It is something my daughter says she needs to do if she has gotten too immersed in YouTube or Roblox. She asks for digital detox every so often, and we will then have a day occasionally without any Internet.

However, it was the encroachment of AI into child friendly areas of the Internet that we took this disconnect even more seriously. We have sworn off social media for all extensive purposes mainly because the algorithmic targeting of children isn't just about engagement or data collection, it is about creating a parasocial dependency and challenging our sense of reality.

That sounds heavy, but it was as simple as my daughter scrolling YouTube shorts and seeing “baby presidents,” i.e. AI generated baby versions of Trump and Obama walking down a runway in suits. She was shocked to know these weren't actually real toddlers who uncannily resembled our esteemed leaders. Or being able to create personal chatbots on Instagram, and getting caught up in a conversation about anime characters—and it seeming so real.

The algorithmic pull, driven by AI, made YouTube Shorts intoxicating, so I downloaded a blocker to let her focus on the haunted history and medical mystery videos she liked without being sucked into problematic memes.

My point is, raising a child now is beyond wanting them to touch grass. It is wanting them to keep touching reality. Ironically, for us, part of that involves her playing make believe through making movies.

Growing up, one of the ways I bonded with my father was going to movies at the theaters. It only occurred to me today that before his death five years ago, I had never actually seen a streaming movie with him. After COVID, seeing a movie with my family outside home was a rarity. Despite this theatrical lack compared to what I experienced, my daughter has always felt this pull towards movies—first with acting, and now with creating movies from top to bottom.

This past year I have helped her produce her own movie she wrote, about three neurodivergent homeschoolers exploring a haunted school. We were lucky enough to get enough funding to hire a professional crew and students to bring that vision to life.

What struck me in this process is how visceral the experience is. You are trying to create the semblance of reality with lighting and camera tricks. Acting is designed to make you think it is real. But, there is no question that the ghosts in her short film, The Haunted Belldown School, are not. When the lights come up in the theater, you leave the movie magic behind.

Perhaps the freedom to play make believe is what we need to encourage our children to do, more than just touching grass. Rather than have them cling to the real, we give space for them to explore their imaginations. Play allows us to enter new realities without leaving our own, rather than confuse us about what is true.

Today, my daughter’s film is livestreaming for free at 3:10 and 10:10 pm CST, and if you are curious you could check it out:

https://watch.encorenow.org/featured/events/showcase-live-stream

It served as a homeschool project and a fun project for me to help her with. But more than that, it reminded me that creating art allows us to be human. And maybe that's the greatest gift we can give the next generation. Grass that is green…and real.

Best,

Melissa

After the election, I vowed to bury my head in the sand. That meant no news. No doom scrolling. Ignoring social posts meant to rile you up. I was going on a propaganda blackout. My guess is that many of you made this vow as well.

Why? I was still traumatized by the swirl of discontent from the media spectacle and social media cluster that intensified during COVID-19. The next election, at least for me, the world was a bit more normal. At least quieter. I could deal with that.

However, after this last election, spectacle has tried to suck me back in. Part of it is from the attempt to "flood the zone." According to infamous Steve Bannon, that is the process of giving so much chaotic information to the press and social media that we don't know what is happening behind the scenes. Think Wizard of Oz with flying monkeys lining our yellow brick path. Despite my propaganda blackout, these monkeys clawed back in.

Then, the spectacle started causing real-life issues. Those pesky eggs at $8 in the grocery store were a red flag. The uncertainty about interest rates meant needing a new strategy to deal with debt. The student loan upheaval meant some tough choices. When the doom jumps off the scroll and into your daily life, you can't escape.

Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It would be easy to go into the weeds of policy and debate, trying to understand choices that don't make sense, maybe not to us or the powers that be. But then I realized it was all a distraction. I realized we weren't in an information bubble anymore.

We are in an engagement trap.

Today, I wrote a meta-commentary to understand why we are stuck in this flood zone. It isn't just an attempt to cover up—it is the attention “they” desire.

If that sounds paranoid, it is because it may be. But crazy doesn't mean you aren't right.

If you get a chance, I would love you to read the article I wrote called "Why do AI Companies Simulate Consciousness?"

I don't want to flood your zone with my humble take, but it might help make sense of today's chaos.

Best,

Melissa

On a more cheerful note, Willa Kate with me as we celebrate my 50th birthday!

If you are familiar with my writing, you might know that I write to “try to make sense of the world.” But, if I go deeper, I agree with author Terry Tempest Williams’ notion: “I write to uncover.”

So, what does it mean to uncover?

To uncover means to find what is hidden, often the more profound meaning beyond the obvious. This act of exposing can be a saving grace when faced with trauma and loss. The idea is that there must be something underneath beyond the pain and confusion. It's to seek wisdom in the face of absurdity.

My first foray into writing, at least consistently and for a wider audience, was when I became the 5th-grade correspondent for our school newspaper. I fancied myself an investigative reporter, trying to uncover mysteries such as what was on the lunch menu that week. Fast forward to now, at age 49, where my excavations include writing about my dad’s death from the unrelenting disease of dementia.

Between this writing trajectory, I dabbled in fiction and novel writing in college and my early adulthood. Still, my uncovering through memoir and personal essay was more profound when traumatic events moved me away from imaginary people and worlds and to a better understanding of lived experience.

My uncovering showed me the deep well of creativity that can be born out of trauma and grief. For Annie Dillard, in The Writing Life, writing is when “life is the most free.” Uncovering gives me the freedom to move past the mundane and meaningless. However, like Dillard notes, there is also freedom in the triviality of writing. This helps when you face the fact that no one “needs” your writing. It's the opposite. I write because I need to.

Uncovering means trying to understand and its corollary, to connect. Early on, for me that meant shifting between the real and imagined until now, when they have become increasingly blurred. I see this in my writing about motherhood. I use my writing to understand the complexities of that experience.

Nicole Walker asks in her discussion of the braided essay, “What is creative nonfiction writing but the shaping and reshaping of self against fact?” One school of thought is that writing uncovers the facts, as I did as a burgeoning “investigative reporter.” But, more than “just the facts, ma’am,” I have learned to focus on the creative space between reality and imagination.

My motivation for writing harkens to Walker’s insight: “The facts are the glacier to the soft canyon of your history. You see the history new. You see the facts a little more softly.” My writing softens the edges of my memory.

It's there that discovery begins.

On May 8, at 9 pm, I called my 23-year-old son to ask if he heard a tornado siren. He was at our home in rural Southeast Missouri. My daughter, my husband, and I were in St. Louis, about 1 1/2 hours away, and I had gotten a notification on my phone warning about a tornado in Ironton. My son said no and went to look out the window. He then said an expletive, and the phone didn't work for ten minutes.

When I finally got ahold of him, he told me he had seen a rotation of rain in our front yard in Ironton, and then a huge tree fell inches away from crushing our front porch.

Fortunately, our house was spared, and the only damage we had on our property was to numerous trees and a few fences. Others of our friends and neighbors weren't so lucky.

Fortunately, we have not heard of any deaths or significant injuries. However, the trauma of being in such a dangerous situation will last a long time for the area. My son says the sound of chainsaws fills the town from dawn to dusk.

My daughter and I haven't been back there yet. My husband got to survey the damage last week. He sent me pictures of many trees broken in half. Some trees were thrown 40 feet or more by the 92 miles an hour winds. A few of our fences are down. Fortunately, our horses and goats were fine.

At the end of this week, we will close up our house in the city and spend the summer at our small farm. Part of that time will be spent helping my daughter produce and star in a short film she wrote. It is about three homeschoolers who explore a haunted school and encounter evil ghost teachers and ghost kids. The homeschoolers and ghost kids all have challenges, such as autism, ADHD, and dyslexia. My daughter wrote the family-friendly horror script, The Haunted Belldown School, inspired by her difficulties with dyslexia.

When thinking about everything we will have to do to repair the damage from the tornado, both at our house and in terms of the larger community, I can't help but think about the theme of my daughter’s film—facing adversity despite your challenges.

Her project reflects resilience and diversity, especially in the aftermath of the tornado.

My son is a teacher at a small rural school, which was demolished by the tornado. There's a picture of his classroom missing the ceiling and a wall. He said, “At least Descartes survived.” He was referring to the poster of the mathematician and philosopher on his wall.

There are going to be hundreds of children who may have no school next year. Maybe it will be virtual; or the students may be bussed to other towns thirty minutes away. The best-case scenario is that the school can be repaired. No one is holding their breath for that.

Many of these kids will be neurodivergent, the same as my daughter and her characters in her film. They will be faced with adversity posed by their circumstances and their challenges. Their lives have been changed forever by some twist in the air.

Horror doesn't have to be a movie plot; it is also about the experience of having your world turned upside down. It is in the understanding of feeling vulnerable to circumstances beyond your control. It is seeing a tornado go down your street and saying, “Oh sh$t.”

This natural disaster is the first one my son has experienced alone. As parents, my husband and I would have done anything to spare him that trauma. I think about all the earthquakes and hurricanes I have been through. Each natural disaster changes you. They punctuate your life. Like all challenges outside our control, they are building blocks for courage and fortitude. They also remind you how human you are.

For me, storytelling is the way I navigate my life challenges. I always say I write to make sense of this world. My son and daughter have the opportunity to do the same, with challenges I can't spare them from. I can only model how you can make meaning in life without running away from adversity. Otherwise, you are haunted by your ghosts.

I would appreciate it if you click here https://seedandspark.com/fund/the-haunted-belldown-school to learn more about my daughter’s film project and consider donating to make it come to fruition. All funds will go to film production. Your support of her creative expression can give hope to children who face less dramatic adversity than a tornado's aftermath, but it can seem impossible.

Your support for my daughter's film project extends beyond creative expression; it symbolizes hope and resilience.

Natural disasters teach you about resilience, and diversity teaches you about opportunities. Our storytelling can inspire us to create a greater narrative of renewal. Remember that as you hug your loved ones, knowing you never know what will happen tomorrow.

Best,

Melissa

“What do you mean?” she asked, looking perplexed in light of my words of wisdom, reminding me of how little I know.

“You can make all the plans in the world but never know what is going to happen,” this seemed to make more sense to her, so I went on, “So, the fun in life is that everything can be different in the future.”

I don't usually make grand pronouncements about life, but perhaps in the wake of turning 49, I feel a little more confident about making sweeping generalizations. Maybe, just maybe, my Gen X self is a bit wiser among the deepening of the lines on my face. (“Mommy, I love you even if you are old and wrinkly” was part of another conversation with my daughter!)

I can't help but think of the lyric by John Lennon:

"Before you cross the street, take my hand. Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans." —Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy)

I thought about this idea that life is not about making plans because we only have so much control over them anyway when I was reading about the science of manifesting. The “unscience” of it is magical thinking, where you imagine your goals, set an intention, and steadfastly reach them. Think vision board and good thoughts.

The science, which looks more at the psychology of this approach to goal-setting, argues that a more effective way than sheer optimism is to imagine the obstacles in front of your goals. By acknowledging these blocks, you can more effectively envision a path to your goals and thus be motivated. Ultimately, with either approach, you have to have a clear plan in mind.

At 49, I think this is an excellent time to take stock of my goals, considering that life will have its way even if I plan.

Two steadfast goals I have had in my life were being a writer and having a child despite infertility. The first has been a throughline throughout my life; the second occurred after the loss of my first daughter to SIDS and becoming a stepmom. The first goal of writing wasn't that impossible; it just involved commitment despite experiencing rejection, and it's manifested itself in many forms depending on opportunities and skill. The second involved diligence, luck, and perseverance—and could have been impossible.

Looking at these two types of goals, one in my control in many ways, the other not so much, I've been trying to think about my plans for the second half (more like 1/3) of my life. Writing and mothering certainly is in my foreseeable future. But, instead of having steadfast specific goals with those, I'm welcoming serendipity. Life can be an adventure when you aren't making plans.

I've heard about women around my life stage saying they want to say “yes” to more things. Shonda Rhimes, creator of Grey’s Anatomy, wrote a book a few years ago called “Year of Yes,” in which she said she was saying yes to everything.

Perhaps as I walk faster towards 50, rather than thinking about what to plan, it's about what to say yes to. In the past, I'd consider opportunities and think about all the reasons NOT to do something. What could go wrong? Why it might not succeed? Perhaps mid-life can be a time not just to be optimistic about the future, dabbling in magical thinking, but a way to be open to possibilities I might not have ever thought of.

There are two challenges with a saying-yes mentality. First, the idea that saying yes means saying no to other opportunities and also figuring out how a yes fits into my family dynamics.

It's been a paradigm shift to realize that I don't have to fear that a yes precludes another choice. It might just be yes for now; let's try it out. Or it might mean that a yes opens up room for another yes I never considered.

In terms of family dynamics, I have written about the challenges that I have had with motherhood and writing or working. My yes also has to be balanced out with the needs of my family. However, I've become more confident about taking opportunities that require my other family members to adjust or put my goals first.

So, what are some ways I'm saying yes recently?

For one, I enrolled in a MFA creative writing program. I'm not sure if it's a good fit right now, but I have become more committed to writing creative non-fiction. I'm piggybacking that with submitting work to various journals.

I have also been seeking new job opportunities, interviewing for various writing and teaching positions. It's hard getting back on the job market! But, I am being challenged to put my best self forward.

Additionally, I'm leaning into editing Pop Off, a Medium publication about everything pop culture. I am also working towards reestablishing Fat Daddy’s Farm Journal, which aims to publish “uncommon voices.” I'm seeking other opportunities to edit and give feedback as well.

To wrap up this letter, I have three questions you might consider:

1. What is one goal or aspiration you've hesitated to pursue due to fear or uncertainty?

2. How can you embrace the unexpected twists and turns of life with a sense of curiosity and adventure?

3. What is one small step you can take today to say "yes" to a new opportunity or experience?

Maybe this is the year of yes for you, too.

With gratitude,

Melissa

Returning to teaching after a decade, the classroom welcomed me—but with no chalkboards or whiteboards, just a large screen projecting my desktop. Only a few moments before, I had just said goodbye to my daughter, who was to go on a homeschool adventure with my husband.

The post-pandemic edition of teaching is a complex interplay of roles where my professional and personal lives intertwine.

As the semester ends, I find myself finally sharing these experiences, providing an update on the changes that have occurred. I waited until now, unsure how this first semester, teaching after over a decade, would turn out. It could have been a disaster. This delayed reflection also allowed me to have some time to ponder on the growth that has taken place amidst all the changes.

I learned that classroom challenges, amplified by the aftermath of the pandemic, demand adaptation. Mental health concerns among students have become a priority, leading me to assign mental health buddies and reflections on breaking free from perfectionism to my students. The writing classroom, where in the past I would solely focus on communication and critical thinking, is now a place to nurture holistic growth in students.

For me, juggling the demands of teaching and parenting is a whole bag of worms. My husband, a professor, now has parenting duties during my teaching hours. Their shared afternoons, filled with museum visits and park outings, are bittersweet for me. I love their growing bond, but I struggle with FOMO. I struggle to balance my time with my daughter and my fatigue from teaching. My mom guilt is real.

As I look forward to the next semester, there's ample time for reflection. I'm considering changes I can make in course structure and personal interactions. Strengthening my relationships with both my daughter and students is essential. I've learned this semester that I need intellectual stimulation, but I also need connection. On the horizon is also taking a graduate creative writing course and potentially teaching online writing courses.

In this post-pandemic era, finding balance is more than a juggling act; it's about integrating all parts of life. The fact that time is fleeting is a constant reminder to nurture the strongest possible bond with my daughter while also stimulating my mind.

Forgive me for this late update. It has given me some space and time to reflect on the recent challenges and those to come.

Read more about this recent personal journey.

No Mimosa for me.

Published orginally in Melissa Miles McCarter on Medium

“What do you want to do for Mother’s Day?” is one of the most loaded questions you can ask. On the one hand, you want the one day you get the attention you deserve. On the other hand, you want to be left alone like you deserve, too.

There seem to be at least two trends for Mother’s Day in 2023. The Brunch and The Mother’s Day Out. Other than a Mimosa and a day without being talked to through the bathroom door, neither sounds that interesting.

Frankly, a regular day that involves no chores and no arguments between siblings is fine with me. Neither of which is likely.

On Mother’s Day, we plan to see my husband play a gig. He scheduled four gigs for his band (a part-time passion) this weekend.

“You have one on Mother’s Day!” I said.

“I thought you’d be happy about the extra money,” he said, looking confused, like I was giving him mixed messages.

I’m too tired and old to complain too much about this. Especially since we are closing at the end of the month on a house, so he’s right that extra cash is welcomed. But, frankly, it’s not ideal.

“You can come to see me play, and then I’ll take us out to dinner.”

So, tomorrow involves driving an hour away with my mother, my 22-year-old stepson, and my seven-year-old daughter. I would rather hang out at home, but you can’t always get what you want.

And speaking of wants, I’m getting a goat for the holiday.

“It’s a goat promissory note,” my husband and stepson joked since I’m not getting it until June. This week they are working on the new goat pen, plus finishing up the aviary.

The aviary is because the chicken coop is too small for the two turkeys we have in our flock.

“I think a larger space will make the Tom less aggressive,” I explained to them. He liked to protect the 7 Guinea Fowl, three chickens, and his mate, a female turkey.

“I’m glad he’s so protective, but he’s attacking our daughter now,” I said about my daughter. She was proud to tell others she has a stick for a defense that she uses to whack the Tom.

I digress. This is Mother’s Day on a hobby farm, where you get a pretty blue sundress and a promised goat for presents. I’ll wear the dress tomorrow and nag about fixing the fence for the goat at dinner.

Much better than time alone with a Mimosa, but not quite as good as lounging on the couch with my kids playing Minecraft together while beside me.

But at least there’s the goat to look forward to.

No Mimosa for me.

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His children claim this is part of a pattern of negative behaviors towards them.

Continue reading on Pop Off »

Puppy-Gate, The Bunny, and more

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I got fired.

At 48 years old, I got an email saying that because of corporate restructuring, my services were no longer needed.

What's embarrassing about this is that I wrote in my newsletter last week that I got a new job writing about reality television and went on and on about it being part of my self-care.

Blah, blah, blah.

And I was in an unceremonious manner, without warning, fired from that self-care.

It makes me wonder why I even bother selling writing to others. It means I don't own the audience. Maybe it expands my audience, but I doubt I brought them to my newsletter, which I do own.

My quality of writing doesn't change just because I'm fired. Maybe my writing might be somewhat different since their style guide constrained me. Perhaps I can go back to writing about more disparate and personal topics. Maybe this is the opening up of space for other writing opportunities.

But it doesn't make it less embarrassing.

I haven't been fired like this for years. Usually, a contract ends. Or I see it's not a match and gracefully bow out. It's usually a mutual decision based on the needs no longer aligning anymore, with no hard feelings. My husband says it's nothing personal, that it's probably corporate HR making the decision, and that editors probably didn't know to warn me. (From my last conversation with them, I could see that being true.)

I guess I forgot how cold and cruel corporate America is. At least it's not my husband's job (while he does have tenure and a pension) that we financially rely on.

But it wasn't the money. It was the sense of validation that comes from being paid to write regularly and feeling like I had more worth than just being a caregiver (mother, wife, etc.)

There's something utterly crazy about continually putting yourself out there and willingly subjecting yourself to rejection.

Cue an emotionally inspiring song to pep me back up...

Best,

Melissa

It’s been over a week, and I’m still sick. Well, it’s “we” now. My daughter started having similar symptoms a couple of days ago. Sore…

Continue reading on Medium »

The reason I am sharing this now is that something I wrote for class, in response to the prompt “write about an internal conflict,” went viral on Medium. Here is the link if you are interested. I’ve made almost $200 on it so far, which for a Medium article, isn’t bad. And for a throwaway prompt.

The point in telling you this isn’t to brag but that I really think taking a creative nonfiction class improved my writing. It’s also inspired me to take a memoir class. I’m hoping to get two things out of it—extending a memoir I have started writing and getting a sample together to send off to MFA program admissions next year.

I am also writing about reality television for Screen Rant. It may seem like an odd job for someone with a Ph.D. in English. But I really enjoy it. It's exercising a writing muscle to have deadlines and to pitch ideas.

If you remember, I have written about needing more intellectual stimulation as a homeschool mom to a 7-year-old. These are the steps I have taken. It is nice they are paying off a little financially, too. It gives me more of a sense that I am contributing in a way that uses my love of writing. Plus it's something I’m doing just for me.

Writing is now a form of self-care.

Thanks for continuing to read my work.

Melissa

It’s worn out so that there are microscopic tears and macroscopic holes in the material.

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A conversation with my father

Continue reading on Memories Mastered »

She sang, sitting in the back seat of the car,

"When everything is hard, and nothing works, just know everything is going to be okay."

It's not one of those things I always believe, but I felt proud that we have given her such an environment that she's confident in that belief. She said we could sing that song whenever we had a hard time. I asked her like when.

"Like when it's really rainy, and you are having a hard time getting places." This was appropro because, as she said that a huge rainstorm beat against the windows. We were trying to get from her horseback riding lesson to gymnastics class. Coming up with the song was a great way to deal with her anxiety about the very real possibility that the storm was going to make her late. She expressed her happiness, though, that we'd miss the stretching part because that gets monotonous, so she was seeing the bright side already.

It made me think about how outlooks on life and how important they are. To be so awesome that you come up with a coping song for dealing with difficulties.

I have to admit I'm not the most optimistic person. I'm a person of faith; I put my faith in that the universe will ultimately provide what we want or we are gearing towards; I have faith that obstacles are opportunities, that we can make prayer and ask for direction, and that things ultimately are okay. I'm not particularly religious or anything, but I, in general, do have faith. But faith and optimism are not the same things.

Her song can be a song of the faithful; you have faith in particular when you aren't sure things will go well. Her song expressed deeper confidence that things will be okay. I see faith as a being like bravery. Brave people feel fear. Faithful people feel doubt. It's the act itself, the orientation towards life, in which you, without any concrete reason necessarily to support that belief, have faith, or feel brave, despite your reticence.

In a way, you have to feel brave to feel faith. It's scary to think that things may not turn out okay, and brave to think then, I'll have to see how that obstacle can be an opportunity rather than get beaten down by disappointment.

So, when I hear my daughter sing, "When everything is hard, and nothing works, just know everything is going to be okay," my thoughts are, I don't know if I believe her all the time, but I certainly am willing to have faith that she's right.

It’s hard growing up, for us and him

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How did you function as a professional writer and be a successful mother? I know that’s a loaded question, using the words professional and successful, but my main query is, how did you finish writing projects while caring for other beings? What sacrifices did you make (for your writing or your family), what did they give to each other, and how were they related?

I’ve read about your talking about writing late at night when your children were younger. You said that you were able to do it because you were used to staying up late because of your husband being in the theater and waiting for him to come home after performances. I relate to this because I wait for my husband to come home as well from playing gigs on weekends (he plays keyboards and sings in a band in his part-time job. He’s an English professor during the week).

But my daughter stays up as well with us those weekend nights, so I have to stay up even later if I want to write while she’s asleep. More fruitful is letting her sleep in and writing in the morning at times like I am doing now. You also write about domestic life a lot; your novels all center around family, and the course of reading your work strengthened my romantic notion of family. But, the stress and sacrifice that you went through in being a mother-writer aren’t as clear.

I’d like mothers to write more about the struggles they go through being writers and mothering. Writers often talk about writing a novel as like birthing. But what about birthing while writing a novel? What about the stress and burden we feel in the process of doing both?

You made it look so easy, and it’s not. Something or someone doesn’t get the attention you need when you are a mother-writer. You feel guilt for either of your babies, your biological one or your creative one, your human one, or your word-made one.

I wouldn’t be the writer I am without being a mother. I wouldn’t be the mother I am without being a writer. But is that a good thing? Are both made better for their coexistence? I’m not sure. You certainly made it look to be a good thing to be both.

You are no longer alive, so you can’t write more about this struggle, the trade-offs you had to make, and the regrets you had more than you already did. I’ll be on the lookout for other mothers who are writers who struggle with this identity, mother writers.

Thank you for sharing your work while mothering.

Best,

Melissa McCarter

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Why writing is a luxury.

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