One of the reasons I am as prolific as I am, which really isn’t to say I’m prolific whatsoever, but to say that I truly do write, is because my little son takes long naps during which I force myself to write. I can’t do housework. Not only do I detest doing dishes and get no enjoyment in scouring ovens whatsoever�but do like a clean house I must clarify�I can’t clean, because he might wake, so I write. My work must be at least tangentially connected to writing for it to be considered work. Otherwise, what I am doing is wasting time.