Why is it that time seems to go so fast?
I find there are just not enough hours in the day to get everything I need to get done...done.
Sometimes when I am planning to sit down and write after work or on the weekend, I notice the bathroom needs to be cleaned. A co-worker mentions a clothing drive at Hilander. Our black lab is shedding the equivalent of one dog per day; I see black tufts of it floating into the corner.
While I do like to "keep house", it is not my passion.
Writing is my passion.
Finding quality time to write is hard. That's what I say.
I believe everyone would agree with me when I also say that if I were to have an entire Sunday alone to write, I wouldn't.
I'm being honest.
I would clean the bathroom. Sort the clothes. Vacuum. Talk on the phone.
When only an hour or two is left until dinner, and my house is satisfactorily clean, I suddenly find the "zone", where everything I put on paper is golden.
Time flies during those moments until I realize I can hear everyone's stomach growling, including mine, and off I go to the kitchen to make dinner.
I am upset with myself because I had the entire day to write and I only used a portion of it. No one really cares if the bathroom goes one more day or if they have to reuse their last bath towel. It's just my excuse.
Why is that? Do other writers do that? Why am I compelled to, say, clean the microwave when I get a big chunk of time to write?
I tell myself sometimes, I'm brainstorming. I'm developing my characters. I'm plotting out the next great American novel. I'm not, though.
I am procrastinating. I'm being lazy.
I do have time to write. I just need to be disciplined enough to take it.
I think I need to quit standing in my own way.