People sometimes (often?) ask me how I can possibly find time to write. As I sat writing in the car during my daughter’s ballet practice, pungent smell of manure (the ballet studio is on a farm!) wafting in through the air vents, it really occurred to me that it’s not about the Big Expanse of Time. It’s about learning to write, day in and day out, month after month. And when you consider that I’ve been writing on a consistent, daily basis for more than five years now, the rhythm of writing under contract isn’t all that new.
For several years now I’ve been of the mind that you just have to write whenever you can, even if it’s not the most pristine, graceful moment. See the cow manure/farm moment earlier today. Irony here? That it was some of the most unadulterated creative time I’ve had in weeks: no radio on, no Internet service, no interruptions. It was just me in my car, fingers flying over the keyboard.
Too often aspiring writers seem to wait for the big ideal moment, forgetting that life is an accumulation of less-than-ideal moments. It’s the overall tapestry we’re creating that matters.
Anyway, it’s been a long time since I posted here, but I think my more ideal moments are starting to click by closer together. Here’s hoping that means I can be a more regular presence out here in the blogosphere.