Well, that title is a fantasy if ever I had one. I awoke at 6:15 today as per my usual and peeked out the window hoping for a blanket of snow as was predicted for these parts. (I’m not a masochist; I was just hoping for a snow-justified work-from-home day!) Alas, there was a light dusting on the lone car outside my window. I decided to work from home anyway, sans snow; reason #62 my job is pretty cool.
Instead of climbing back into my comfy bed, I did what I’ve been meaning to do for so long: I got ready, went to 1369 coffeehouse, and I wrote. Granted, what I was writing is a story that was supposed to be sent out to my writing group yesterday, but my successes won’t be overshadowed by deadlines.
At pretty much every reading I’ve been to or writing class I’ve taken, the number one bit of advice seems to be to write everyday. To find your place and your space and your time, guard it and create something everyday. This has been something I’ve been struggling with so much lately, finding not only my space, but the desire to shut down other areas of my life in order to make that time and place.
Where do you struggle in your writing life? I suppose it isn’t fair to just assume that all heavy readers are also writers, but alas, it’s something I’ve been thinking a lot about lately. How do you make that time? How do you discipline yourself and explain to others who may not understand?