Confessions of a part-time writer

  • I don’t write every day.
  • Except when I do.
  • Weekly thought: what would my life look like if I had all the money I needed and could stop the day job to focus on writing full-time?
  • Daily thought: I should be working on {whatever I should be working on}.
  • Hourly thought: What food do I have at home?
  • Constant background hum: What the fuck am I doing with my life?gina.gif
  • Some weeks are non-cleaning and non-cooking and non-writing and general non-anything weeks.
  • You know what would be amazing? Someone who is not me that makes me food, preferably for free and with my exact tastes and preferences in mind and exactly when I want it. The time I’d save.
  • Why the hell can’t I afford a personal chef who is also a mind reader.
  • They could clean my dump of a flat while they’re at it.
  • I have in my possession no less than five lists with headings along the lines of ‘More Productive Shit I Could Do With My Free Time.’
  • Items on those lists include:
    • Learn a new language
    • Join a club/group/activity
    • Understand investing
    • Learn how to programme a website
    • Brush up my Photoshop skill
    • Brush up my art skills
    • Get a scuba diving license
    • Sports
    • Volunteer for something
    • Repaint some of my furniture
    • Learn what repainting furniture involves
    • Clean my fucking flat
  • Okay, you got me, I do like two of those things already and, shit, the GUILT whenever I do something that’s not writing D:
  • I love sleep so fucking much. Sleep trumps everything except a deadline. Holy shit, I should write an ode to sleep. Other people have done that, right? Sleep, you’re the best.tumblr_mes3u5SWrl1r3zat8.gif
  • Seeing how the full-timers marketblogwritetweetinstagramplottravelspeakengagereadreviewnetworkemailrelease is an exercise in madness. Inadequacy-inducing madness.
  • When time is limited, so is the extent of my implementation of all the above.
  • Sometimes I feel bad about that, but 99% of the time, I really don’t.tumblr_inline_n32okhDdrA1rnvwt1
  • Sometimes I leave my flat and walk outside, under the trees and beside the river. I take deep lungfuls of salt-tinged air and let my brain whirr away. The sun shines or the rain spits, the world is quiet away from the main roads of the city, and I like the reminder that this is here, waiting for me. Gratitude fills me, gratitude that the river flows and I can walk by it, see it, feel the sun on my skin or the rain in my hair. Because one day I won’t be able to do things like this, but today I can, and probably tomorrow too. Best of all is the fact that I’m not inside sitting at my laptop.
  • Sometimes I
    absolutely
    positively
    completely
    cannot be arsed.tumblr_o7g1w6Sc2R1u2nipgo8_400
  • And that’s when I’m glad I have the day job.
  • But then I start writing again and am reminded why it’s all I’ve ever really wanted to do, and why I keep devoting my free time to it.tumblr_o7hnuaf1Zj1u2nipgo2_400.gif