A lot of my writing is about being a mother. Which is kind of ironic to me, since the early days of parenting felt marred by mourning a creative life.
These days my sons are wise to the fact that they provide much fodder for my work. I can barely tell them about a new project before they’re doing some wacky math to calculate their cut. Recently I did slightly better than breaking even on a show, and they still somehow figured that I owed them 10 bucks. But I don’t actually talk about them very much, not as real people, not like in real life. And I think that’s mostly cause, well… I can read a room.
