Words, words, words

Writing is making me crazy emphasizing my already well-established insanity.
They say that what you write reveals a vast amount about you. (And by "They", I mean one mentor and two written sources or one written source and two mentors.) They also say to write what you know.
Looking on my growing catalog of plays and my book (which hasn't been touched in almost 6 months), I'm looking for a trend or 'niche' that would help describe my voice or 'type' of writing.

We've got a historical piece on the Suffragette movement, a government conspiracy play, a contemporary 'chick play', a black rom-com, and an adaptation of one of my favorite cult movies into a musical (with most of the music still yet to be written). Sigh.

With the exception of the latter, they all have undertones of politics, religion and economics. Funny... because as a general rule, I'm bitter and jaded about all three of those subjects. I guess what you write about really does reveal something about the writer. I'm exorcising my demons, I suppose. And learning focus.

What I don't write about... is my kids. (Though they are the central characters in my book - which is fiction.)
Even in blogging and Facebook/Twitter updates, I censor myself on a regular basis when it comes to my son and daughter. Part of this is due to a bad experience when a stalker found and used photos of them to taunt and torment me... I discovered then how easily the internet can be used to invade your life. The other part of me doesn't want to reveal too much about my kids because the more secrets they have to reveal in their memoirs, the better price they'll get.

Now that they've both graduated High School and are on to college, I still feel protective of them... but I'm also finding myself more vocal about celebrating the amazing adults they've become. I'm at that strange phase of life where it feels odd to thank my 'kids' in my bio, because they aren't kids any more. Even though they'll always be my babies.

And therein lies the rub. Shouldn't I be writing about my kids more? Especially now that they can't be teased in grade school when I turn their childhood anecdotes into a series of children's books? Or are some things just too precious to expose to that kind of vulnerability?

Or maybe I should just stop procrastinating and get back to revisions.