Time. There’s never enough of it. Unless you’re waiting for a plane, or a bus, or an editor/agent to call and say yes we’d love to offer you big money and represent every book you have ever written or ever will.
Oops...sorry, drifted off into my happy place again...
Anyhoo, where was I? Ah yes, extolling the virtues of time. Or lack thereof, in which case there are no virtues.
I’m a pretty structured person. I like things that way. Drives most of my fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants friends to distraction, but hey, I get things done. And I get them done because I know where I’ll find the time to do them. Structuring my time is usually not a problem. Having enough time, that’s something else entirely. I haven’t quite figured out the secret of bending the time-space continuum.
My problem with time is like everyone else’s. There’s never enough of it. I would love to find more writing time, but I can’t quite figure out where to carve it out. I could sleep less, I suppose, but then I’d be too bleary-eyed and brain dead to accomplish things anyway. Much as I discovered over the past few weeks of sleepless nights. I could quit work. But then I’d be living in a cardboard box and quite frankly there isn’t enough room for all of my furniture and my computer in there. I could stop working out, but then I’d be overweight, unhealthy and miserable. I can’t imagine what sort of romance I’d write then. Maybe I’d create a new genre. Bitter-Lit. Hmm...has a nice ring to it.
I have some time in the evenings, and I’ve tried to write then, but after an early morning of writing, a day of working, a workout, cooking supper, an hour of reading, then try to fit in some Project Linus work. After that I’m pretty much down for the count. I need an hour or two to just vegetate and recharge.
Which leaves...the weekends. Lately, I’ve been letting myself wake up when I feel like instead of setting my alarm to make sure I don’t sleep past 8 AM. I’ve surprised myself (and incurred the wrath of my dog who likes to be fed as early as possible if not sooner) by how late I can sleep. Granted I’m still up way before noon, but still...10:30 AM is like two in the afternoon to someone who is used to getting up before six.
So I started thinking...what if I get up early at least one morning on the weekend and get 2-3 hours of writing in? If I get up around 7ish, I’ll still be done by ten, which leaves plenty of time for me to sit on the couch, leaf through some magazines and drink a leisurely cup of coffee or six.
Yup. I think that’s the answer. Weekend mornings. Early.
Now that’s suffering for your art.