I came across this post from 2012 and repeat it here now almost word for word as I wrote it then. This year is different. I am writing. Have been doing lots of editing and I’ve more of both ahead of me. I’ve not done anywhere near enough promotion and those ‘life’ annoyances are different, but still very prevalent, maybe more so. Part of me wants to sum up the entire post into a single sentence: I’m a writer and I’m forever busy:
A friend sent me a text last night: “I hope the writing is going well.” I had to reply that I’m not writing. I haven’t been for… well, I’m not sure. Several days, maybe three or four weeks, and it’s annoying me. I’ve found a moment here and there to ‘tinker’ but not to write, although that’s not entirely true either.
I’ve ‘tinkered’ with a bit of story, but not had time to sit down and truly write, so I’ve hardly written a word. On the other hand, I’ve written plenty. Had edits. I’ve written long-overdue emails. I’ve three works out in December so have written blurbs and promo, and typed my book details everywhere I can think of, and written blog posts for places I’m hoping to show up at pontificating about my books or the writing process that created them for anyone who has asked me, or cares to read them. And sometimes just to say hi — to connect with other writers and readers and thank them for their support, understanding, and lovely words and messages.
This is another side of ‘writing’ and I’ve had lots of that to be going on with, but I’ve also spent some time out to attend to daily ‘life’. Much as I’d like to claim otherwise, we all have them, these daily lives, and maybe that’s a good thing to keep a person grounded. I’ve a relative in the hospital, the extension roof sprung a leak, and I’ve done some shopping, some of which I can’t avoid as we head towards Christmas. There’s the Christmas run of presents to attend to, and I have parcels to pack up, post off, or deliver. I have cards to write, and a yearly letter to put together for those I have and haven’t neglected equally — either way, it will be a chance for them to catch up on what is happening at ‘our house’.
I’m — deep breath — busy, but in that, I can’t say this time is all that different from any other time. I’m always busy, because when I’ve ticked off all the things on my current to-do list, there will be another one to attend to, and another one, and another after that. It doesn’t stop. It’s part of writing, living this double life, and sure, sometimes it’s part of any normal life, too, but having all this going on occasionally means I procrastinate and tinker a bit with something trivial because it stops me from screaming aloud, which will only earn me strange looks and speculative whispers. And if there ever should be a time when I’m not busy — as if that’s going to happen — I’ll still be occupied because what writers do when they’re not busy is get busy writing. See how that works?
Still, I’m getting antsy and I’m longing for the moment — and it will arrive this week — when I sit down and begin work on something. It may be something that needs editing — it may be old or new, may require a complete re-write, or may be ticking over quietly in a dormant brain cell for now, but I’ve reached a point where if I don’t write ‘story’ it’s quite possible you’ll hear me screaming.
