Of the things I enjoy most — new cities, quiet reflection, strange drunks — it’s writing I miss the most or feel the least fulfilled in. Not that I don’t write most nights, bad poetry, novels that went in wrong directions and short fiction I never completed. Projects drawn out to burdensome months trying to figure out where I’d been, weeks earlier when a story started off on some bright idea since forgotten; and it’s become a frustration most weeks being empty-headed of any ideas. It’s a long day of work and kids and chores and some time to sleep, however poorly, that writing’s done when even the coffee makes you tired.
And that just sucks. But before I sound like a resentful sob I’ll get to the point: it’s a choice based on priorities, and the ones I’ve chosen have a damn good reflection. But still, a problem persists: time. Which is just a matter of priorities.
I have small windows to write in: evenings, usually for a couple of hours. Sometimes during the day but exceedingly rare, even on weekends. (I’d taken a Friday off every month from work to schedule in specific, entire days just for typing, but that job’s now gone, so I forgot about those scheduled days, and now that I’m writing this I realize I’ll have those again once I get another job, and that I can still have them if I just add them to the house calendar.
But I digress.)
The point is, I need to get better at making writing a priority: it’s a big priority for me and I ignore it too much like the runt of a litter. Writing should be at least my third favorite baby. For example shit at work can wait a couple hours while I finish a story. Monday Tuesday Wednesday I type instead of tending the garden, digging can wait till Thursday. The start of the week is always fresh(er). And I’ll put one Friday a month on every calendar and finish some good short stories before I take off a week to write a novella. Then things will be better.
Mick's Neon Fog 