Every day I wake up and my first thought is "I'm going to spend eight hours at the coffee shop today writing my book." And then my next thought is a long list of all the things I have to do that will inevitably keep me out of the coffee shop. I'm still in the middle of my month-long-move, so I don't even have my new office set-up. This means that even when I sit down in my apartment's one chair to do some writing, some distraction inevitably comes along.
I now understand the archetype of the reclusive writer who locks himself (or herself) in a cabin in the woods to write The Next Great Book.
The problem is that all of these so-called distractions are actually important parts of my life. Work keeps a roof over my head and allows me to afford that new office. Friends make me happy. Laundry keeps me smelling nice. Grocery shopping and cooking keep me from falling over.
So you can see my struggle.
I wanted to do a post about writing today because I've found that the posts about creativity, life, and the various ramblings of my mind are the posts that readers like best. But I couldn't think of anything good to blog about in that vein because the truth is that I haven't been writing nearly as much as I should lately.
I've got to make it through to the end of this month. When all the apartment-moving-shenanigans are over, I can drive up north to a cabin in the woods somewhere and really get some work done.