Yesterday I was talking all about how I couldn’t stop writing, even though I had determined I was going to take a little break. That got me thinking about all those years I spent… barely writing.
Back when I was in high school and college and even my pre-married post-school years when I had all this free time I routinely didn’t know what to do with… I didn’t spend very much of it writing. Oh, I tried and I might go through a little spurt here or there where I wrote a lot, but inevitably I’d peter our and just watch a lot of T.V.
Now that I have a husband, a child, a home to take care of, extended familial demands, a wee bit of a social life… now is the time I can’t seem to get enough. I guess part of it is having publishing feel like a realistic goal, part of it is there isn’t much good on TV anymore, and part of it is just that I’ve grown up, but it still amazes me how much time I wasted when I really had plenty of it.
There are some days where I itch to write. Where I am desperate to get the baby to sleep so I can sit at my computer and get lost in my fictional worlds. Writing every day has become an addiction. I can’t get enough.
Good Thing/Bad Thing. As much as writers need to write, there also needs to be balance. As much as I’d love to live nowhere but in my fictional world, that isn’t very realistic and probably not as fulfilling as my real life.
It seems I always come back to talking about trying to find balance.