I’m not keeping regular hours as a writer and I ought to be. I’ve been writing and, again, we are back to drips and drabs, but they are good drips. Good drabs mostly. I’ve managed to build up a better sense of character and plot, my mind reaching out to the fiction and filling in the spaces where things just did not make sense. I believe this is going to be a good book–maybe even a fun read in stretches. Certainly there are a few characters who you can love or hate or love to hate. What is beautiful about it is that I am starting to really enjoy writing it.
So, now it comes down to the hours. I need to sit down and keep a regular time and a regular writing schedule. It is hard because I don’t actually have a space I can do that in at the times I seem to want to do it, and I don’t feel like I lead a life where writing can happen in any space and feel good. I spend as much time dodging people and settling in as I do on the words themselves. This is a thing I need to work out and work through.
I need to talk to my partner and get her thoughts and see how she can work through this problem with me. My natural inclination is to run and hide. My inclination is set up a new space where I feel comfortable writing and use that during the appointed hours of the words, and that will become my writing studio. However, I don’t want to do that. I love the space. I want to use the space. So, I need to figure out that balance. In truth I am likely underestimating the role my chair–a fantastic chair–plays in all of this. If I just moved the chair to a different area then I would probably be fine.
But enough about chairs and space and making excuses for why things aren’t getting done. Things ARE getting done, and that is a beautiful feeling on a saturday night.