Priorities are Not My Strong Suit
I stayed up until 10 p.m. last night to finish yesterday's blog post.
Then the baby woke up at 11 p.m., 2 a.m. and 5 a.m., and cried much of the time in between.
This morning I'm exhausted. I'm mad at myself for not going to bed earlier, for choosing my laptop screen over my husband's company, for starting this whole #365 in the first place. I only have 24 hours in a day. If I spend over an hour on blogging each day, that leaves only 23 for sleep, work, play, food, sex, etc.
Writing this book is a lot like being pregnant. I've spent the past few years in gestation and now every cell of my body is telling me to push, push, push it out into the world. But how?
I know I need to complete the next draft. I know I need to build my platform, so that an editor or agent will eventually give a shit about that draft. I know I need to connect with other writers and read as much as I can. I also need to pay my bills and play with my kids and be present with my family. And on nights when the baby wakes up every three hours, I need to catch up on sleep so that I'm not an irritable, emotional mess with a defective immune system and a propensity to cry in client meetings. I need to tamp down that all-consuming desire to tell my stories, to make art, to go careening away from responsibility and toward the stuff that makes my heart sing. But how?
I'll continue to capture my thoughts and experiences here on the blog each day, but I need to scale back the level of effort. I need to get better at deciphering where to push my writing further, and when to just call it a day.
Instead I scribble to-do lists I'll never complete, daydreaming of a life in which I have nothing but time.