Given that to deny it would be lying, I’ll admit that November and December haven’t been great months of productive writing.
Some of my preoccupation has been excusable – this time of year is heavy with obligations and events that cannot be hidden from. There is also some organization which I had no choice but to prioritise. Add to that some procrastination: a little computer gaming and a reading spurt – about five books in 2 months (which is very unusual for this year). Recently I’ve also started programming again. (Which is probably not a good thing for my writing, but I’m not yet willing to admit it to myself aloud. Consequently any errors in this post are because I didn’t read it aloud).
Looking at my schedule between now and early January it’s unlikely that I’ll find much writing time in there. Not if I still want to be a good husband, brother, son, uncle and functioning employee…
So I’ve decided not to stress about it and just let the next few weeks happen. Any writing I do get done will then be a bonus and a cause for celebration, instead of a constant feeling of dread that it’s not happening.
I wonder why it is I can easily procrastinate away a day (with some guilt), but any attempt to take that same amount of time ‘off’ in a planned and proactive-way makes me feel even more guilty?