Week 1: Cool as Cat
Week 2: Sick as Dog
Week 3: Busy as Bee
Thus ends my first three weeks of the new year and new goals. That’s a very simplistic version, of course. But let’s just say that I’ve already worked 44 hours this week, and my week doesn’t even start until Tuesday. And that’s 44 hours of actual work. I don’t turn the timer on unless I’m actually sitting at the computer, doing work. It doesn’t count fridge runs, thinking in the shower, water-cooler talk (with the cat, I mean. I work from home) or when the boy calls in the middle of the day to ask for the grocery list. This many hours means that not only is my creative time lacking, so is my cleaning time, my workout time, my life time, my joy time. You can imagine what my house, body and brain look like right about now. Messy, messy.
So here’s the upshot: Most of this work was freelance. Which means I’ve taken on too much freelance work already this year, despite my goal, my promise, not to. It’s the eternal writer’s dilemma. Someone wants me to write for them? And they’re going to pay me for it? OK then. Great. Sign me up. This happened to me last year as well, and it has a huge impact on the amount of creative writing that I can accomplish. Granted, creative writing doesn’t pay half as well, but it’s much more rewarding.
I know there’s a happy medium somewhere. Enough freelance to live on, but not so much that it saps every ounce of creative or life energy. I just have to find that balance…
There have been things happening on the creative front, of course. The novel. The proposals. A short story that suddenly came alive. A poetry award. A great reading. Nice letters from readers. Kudos from fellow writers–the kinds of things that feel like the universe is telling me, “Hello, wake up crazy lady. Why are you wasting your talent? Get back to doing what you’re here to do already!”
I’m trying to listen to the universe more. It’s a lot bigger than I am, and I’m guessing that if you piss it off, it’s likely to pack a wallop of a punch…