I was determined to work on the book today, and actually managed to make a little progress. Well, at least what I edited, reread and rewrote didn’t make me gag. And I added a little bit, too. I love the idea of having an entire solid unbroken chunk of time to work in, but that is not the reality of the days before Christmas at my house. I was lucky to get as much done as I did between rings of the kitchen timer and dashes down to the kitchen to see if my ingredients were ready for the next step of the assembly process.
Now, I suddenly have the house to myself and peace and quiet and I’m restless and can’t focus. When my writing time was broken into small pieces, it was easier to get something done. Now that time yawns ahead of me, the task I’m facing seems to have grown exponentially and is no longer inviting me to come and play.
This is my current writer’s mess. I understand it. It’s part of the unwinding process from a very hectic end of semester and several days of errand running and writing and rewriting to-do lists. My writing rhythm is like my life rhythm. Full of stops and starts and little things checked off of long lists.
It’s time to draw back the expectations. I did well this morning and into this afternoon. Now I have some peace, maybe I should just enjoy it and put the writing on the list for tomorrow. I’m still unwinding. I need the space and time to breathe, too. I’m not built to change gears so smoothly.
I’ll enjoy the quiet now.