finding the time to write

To open up this blog, I’m going to begin with the biggest issue I know that I’m going to face in maintaining it–namely time.

I would say that life gets in the way of writing, but writing should also be my life.  It shouldn’t be put on the same level as sitting down to watch an hour of TV.  Sure, I’m pretty obsessed with Supernatural (I mean, c’mon, the Winchester brothers? hel-lo) but remove it and nothing else changes.  Take writing from me and I’ve been emotionally, mentally, and spiritually affected.

What this says then is that I have to make room for it.

There’s no need for me to get into why I don’t have time.  I talk to plenty others whose schedules are just as packed as mine and for completely different reasons.  It doesn’t matter why.  The time isn’t there which tells me that something’s gotta change.

And the only one in my life who can bring that change about is me.

That means I have to look at how my day runs and what moments I might have stolen an opportunity to write.  Now, in the past I’ve expected an hour at minimum to write anything of substance and usually when it comes to novel writing I need at least an hour just to get into the zone.  This hasn’t exactly changed.  To write a halfway decent blog post I need about an hour and any interruptions during that time severely grate on my nerves.

The elusive hour is then what I have to find and if I can’t find an hour, I have to make use of what I can grab.

Now, when my son was first born it wasn’t going to happen.  In fact, for several months after his birth it wasn’t going to happen. Then I went back to work and I snatched chunks of time here and there.  It was a different world.  I lived in South Korea and I worked at a university with a weekly trip to an hour away factory that left me there all day.  It was ideal for writing.

That setup is gone.  I’m still in search of a job and I’m living with my husband, son, and grandparents, all who beg my time and attention.  Finding time then means asking me to sacrifice something precious.

The only precious thing I’m willing to give is sleep.  So, that’s what I’m sacrificing: precious, blessed sleep in order to do something vital to my well being.  It’s not ideal and I’m probably going to run up on mornings where the night was long and tortured but if my eyes open, my body isn’t screaming, and my thoughts are semi-coherent, this is what I’m going to do.  Up and at ’em, brew that cup of coffee, sit and write.

That’s what writing asks of us, isn’t it?  Give it what time, attention, and care we can afford and know that the benefits will be worth it.

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