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I find myself with plenty of free time to do some quality writing today. It’s sad that I don’t often have it, and when I do, I don’t always take advantage of it. I doubt I’m the only would-be novelist guilty of such a sin, but I can’t speak for the others. Today I confess my own failings as a writer.
Writing is such a chore, and because it is, I tend to put it off. You’ll rarely catch me writing in the morning, if ever. I do my best in the afternoon, or even later. When I get in my rhythm, it’s not unusual to be past midnight, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, holding exhaustion at bay.
My job does not give me a set schedule so that I can get into a routine. That’s what I need. We all love routines, though we may complain about it from time to time. Our bodies want to go to bed at a set time, get up at a set time, eat and conduct our lives at a set time. Granted, we don’t want to get into so set a routine that we fall into a rut. We demand routine and some flexibility to make life interesting.
So, I’m justifying my failure. It’s not my fault. The “Man” is keeping me from pursuing my dream. It’s better to blame my failure on someone else than to look in the mirror and realize it’s my own fault. Not going to happen. It’s the Man!
Excuses only absolve me so much, or maybe not at all. I’ve let myself get distracted by too many things. Success demands so much out of us, that most of us give up without realizing we have until it’s too late. Sometimes we never come to terms with the idea that we ceased pursuing our goals. “There’s always tomorrow, after all!”
Enough dawdling. I need to shut everything out for a while and let myself find my flow and let the words flow out of me. As Ernest Hemingway once said,
“There is nothing to writing.
All you do is sit at a typewriter and bleed.”
With all due respect to Mr. Hemingway, I’m all out of typewriters, so I hope my laptop will suffice. Also, while I’m thinking about it, I may need to contact the blood bank, you know, just in case. I’m O-Positive for future reference. Something tells me that I won’t need them.