What a year it's been so far. Some significant events have occurred—such as the launch of my
full-time business—and yet I feel like I've "done nothing" in many ways. I've been terribly busy with life, and I've struggled to find time to live.
Health (running and visits to the gym), music (bagpipe studies and, of course, keyboards), and blogging (case in point) have fallen completely by the wayside since January.
I've barely done enough
crits this year to stay in the game. I'm on double-secret probation right this very minute, and should probably be critting instead of blogging.
I've written close to nothing. Awhile back, I wondered whether I was
capable of not writing. I have my answer, and it is: "yes and no."
I can fail to make time to write. It's easy, I know, I'm quite proficient at it now. So not writing is certainly do-able.
But it really hurts. The lack of a creative release has wounded me, and I didn't even realize it until I finally made time, last night, to write. After such a prolonged absence, I was almost physically struck by the impact of writing. It moved me greatly to get a chance to let those juices flow once more. It's almost impossible to describe how it felt to re-attune myself with a writer's world-view, with the requirement and the ability to see things simultaneously from further away and from closer in.
So though I could "not write," just like I could "not eat," I now know it's painful, even dangerous for me to do so. Armed with this knowledge, I'll try—yes, try, once again—to incorporate writing into my daily life. I'm still on a "writer's high" from yesterday's wordflow, so I know I'll be writing again tonight. What's in question is my behavior next month, or even next week. Like trips to the gym, some willpower will be required to sweep areas of my schedule clean and keep appointments with myself, knowing that my health (mental vs. physical) will benefit from it.
Maybe I can actually blog more regularly than twice a year, too.