Legal Commentary

It is that ugly time of the summer, when the gap between what you expected to get done and what you've actually gotten done is exposed.  In my case, I have about 20-25 pages to write between now and the September 3rd deadline for the submission of drafts for the Bits Without Borders conference.  I've already notified my husband and three sons that I may be somewhat scarce between now and then.  I've also arranged for a fabulous and fun babysitter.  This temporary arrangement comes after a summer in which I've spent a tremendous amount of time with my children--in France, no less.  Why, then, do I feel so guilty?  

I almost never feel guilty about working "outside the home," as they say.  I need to work for financial reasons, but for a host of reasons I'd still work even if I didn't need the money.  I feel incredibly, amazingly fortunate to have a job that I love that has been flexible enough to accommodate my need to care for my children when they had serious health issues.  And I almost never feel guilty about taking time away from my children to prepare for or teach my classes or to grade exams.  But I often feel guilty about the time I spend writing.  I'm not entirely sure why, but I think most of the reason is that I always expect writing to be easier and more efficient than it is, and thus it seems like a personal failing that results in it being difficult and inefficient.  My thinking goes something like this.  "Other people" just go to work and sit in the chair and write, resulting in a steady production of, say 10 pages per day.  These "other people" don't sit and stare into space trying to think of the best way to express an idea.  They don't second guess themselves about whether the idea they have is obvious or stupid.  They don't write and rewrite the introduction ad nauseum until it is smooth enough they feel confident they can go to the next section.  They don't have days when they can't concentrate and have to turn to some other task.  They don't have interruptions from friends or family members or students who need to talk.  They don't have headaches.  They--these automatons--just write.  They always have something tangible to show for a day of writing.  Hence, if I were more like these "other people," I would write faster and thus have more time at home with my family.  [And I wouldn't snap at my son when he asks me to cook him a snack mid-afternoon while I'm writing a blog post, even though he is old enough to cook it himself and even though his father, who often cooks for him, is lying on the couch reading.]    

I've blogged before about the need to embrace your own writing process, however inefficient it may be.  By the time you've been hired as a law professor, it is likely that it is what it is, and whatever that is probably isn't too bad.  But all the logic in the world hasn't made it that much easier to juggle parenthood with writing.  I always feel like every article or book I write should have a first footnote that reads, "I managed to produce this by the deadline despite . . . [insert most recent family crisis here]."

On a related topic, you might be interested in this article in the ABA Journal about the financial prices women (but not men) pay for trying to juggle legal careers with families.  And by the way, I'm not suggesting that fathers don't experience writing guilt, but obviously I only have personal experience with the motherhood version.