It's confirmation that I'm not living 'the writing life', but rather a life with some writing in it - and I'm comfortable with that right now.
My domestic circumstances are in mild turmoil as a result of the renovations which are ongoing (actually, nothing is happening at the moment because of the insurance company obsessing about something entirely inconsequential), but at least we know that it's temporary, and soon we will settle back into our normal rhythm.
I'm trying to write a little more this week, and so far I've been successful, banging out a couple of thousand words in a couple of hours in the latest work about my school days. I hope to get that out into the wide world - and my avid fan base of five readers - before the year is over, but I have rapidly learned that time in the publishing world has remarkably elastic properties.
Mood is so important to how I write, and at the moment I'm a little down because I'm hardly seeing my kids, and each night I have to leave my home to find somewhere to sleep (the largest local hotel). This means that I grab my writing opportunities carefully, so as to avoid creating stuff that has a downbeat flavour to it. This evening for example, I was in full flow when my attention was diverted for a short time, and when I came back to the keyboard, my mood had changed. It was time to leave the computer alone (at least with regards to the book) for the day...
I don't believe in torturing my soul to be a writer, and frankly I'm very skeptical of people who claim to be tortured by their craft, and equally so by those who claim to have to write to stay alive - it all seems more than a little dramatic and attention-seeking. I write because i want to, because I enjoy it, and when I can. If I stop enjoying it, I stop writing for the moment or for the day - it's a simple equation for me.
And now, because it's late and my energy is waning, I will bid you adieu, until next time. As always, my thanks for clicking on my page.