Writing is an interesting pastime, job, hobby, passion. Whatever you want to call it, it’s a unique way to spend your time.
I write when I’m sad, frustrated and most of the time when the stories or voices in my head will not be quite.
I have to consciously make myself write when I’m happily enjoying my real life. In fact, that life often pulls me away from writing time. When I’m on vacation, smelling the proverbial roses, playing an intense game of Bananagrams, I have to make myself write. That’s where the discipline comes in. The book and the blog will not write themselves.
My blog has been neglected because I’ve been finishing Book 3 and because it’s summer. My children smell like sunscreen and I’d rather nap with Michael in the middle of a Saturday afternoon, or have tea with my mom.
I love spending time with my characters, but this month I’ve been taking time to tend to the characters in my real life. It’s all about keeping things in balance.
Living, really being present in my own existence and with those around me, so I have things to write about, but also making time to write because it is so a part of the way I live.
If writing ever became only about schedules and getting words on the page, I’m afraid I wouldn’t really like any of my books and I certainly would grow to resent this blog. At the same time if I’m always lollygagging around, the voices and stories in my mind would put me in the bouncy room.
I had every intention of writing about why it is we only seem to have faith in the justice system when it suits our needs, but this is what fell out instead, so I’ll leave it at that.
My thoughts from the laundry room. Eight Full Hours.