I have been a whining moaning writer. Time has been my Enemy. Outside, I have been calm and collected. Inside, I am frustrated, tired, and utterly spent. Which made me reflect, why am I even blogging? I could be working on my novel! I want to be a writer and it is hard to both build a platform and work on a novel.
However, the question much closer to the heart of all of this is: When you strip all of the craziness of life away, if you could stop for a moment and evaluate what is important, what is worth the precious currency of time we all carry in the pocket of our days?
I am a writer I tell myself, that is why I am writing. I am building my platform. But, I am married and have young children. Cindy and I have been married for seven years and I wish that to continue for the rest of my life. Clara is eight months, soon to be nine months, and June is capable of conversation. Do I want to be one of those distant husband or father figures so virtuously engrossed in my own little writers’ world that I put my dreams above them?
True, the answer is obvious. My kids and wife mean more to me than my job and my writing and even my life. But, I still want to write. There’s just too little time for it in this season of life.
When I heard about Ray Bradbury’s death and some of the things he used to do, like write for hours at a time EVERY. SINGLE. DAY., it made me wonder what his life was like. He had children. He was married. With all of the other obstacles that come up in life he still found that minute morsel of time for his dream.
Every person’s life has seasons. Perhaps this is my writer’s Winter. I cannot wait for the writer’s Spring!
Find some time this weekend to write my friends. I shall try and do the same.