TOTAL WORD COUNT: 12, 532 (I wrote 1192 words)
HOW LONG I WROTE FOR: Just over an hour.
WHAT ELSE I DID:
As I look back over the last (almost) two weeks I see that my mornings are typically the same – I’m a MOTHER. Then my days from 9am – 2:00pm are typically the same – I’m a WORKER/WRITER. My afternoons and evenings are typically back to be being A MOTHER with smatterings of WRITER thrown in to spice things up. I do dishes and laundry almost every day (certain tasks are unavoidable). And these things are just the tangible, concrete things I do. I haven’t really been writing about my emotions about it all. In a day, I’d say I move through the following inner-feelings/ways of being: exhaustion, fear, worry, joy, elation, hunger, frustration, anger, laughter, awe, hope, anxiety, and of course, LOVE.
Some days I’m more pensive than others. Some days I wish I was writing all day. Some days I wish I wouldn’t worry about money. Most days I wish I had exercised. Every day I feel time and I can barely believe how fast it goes, but I know that’s just bunk. It’s not time that moves quickly, it’s me that fills the days with a hojillion things to do – and that’s what makes me feel time. In the same breath, I can tell you that doing the single act of writing makes me completely lose that feeling of time passing – and one hour feels like one minute. I think it’s the closest I’ll ever come to experiencing a parallel universe.
I read every day. I write every day. These things are crucial for my existence as a writer and a dog-gone good human being.
I’m doing my best to welcome the changing weather. We’ve got warm clothes, a furnace that works, sweet smelling candles, fuzzy blankets and love to snuggle with all the time.
I haven’t been reading a novel though because I find it affects my writing mojo. So it’s poetry and non-fiction and news articles (mostly about a certain ex-CBC employee).
It’s my intention to enjoy the writing process. Welcome the time to write with open arms, heart and mind…and then let it go when the timer bleeps at me and tells me it’s ‘time’ to stop and get to living other parts of my life.
I’ve been writing at home, on my laptop. Sometimes on my bed, sometimes on my sofa, sometimes at the dining room table. My wardrobe mostly consists of comfy joggers, sweaters, thick socks, slippers and messy hair. My knee’s been hurting and I’m dealing with it.
Off I go. I’ve a novel to finish.