Sometimes it’s just so hard to find time to write.
I shouldn’t be too disappointed as I knew it was going to be a difficult day – what with a dentist’s appointment at the start, yoga at the end and a dog to walk in between. I may not have done my daily pages* or a jot towards the novel or but at least I’ve done a post for my other blog, and now (bleary-eyed and floppy after a large supper and a glass of wine) I’m doing this.
I shouldn’t be too disappointed as I knew it was going to be a difficult day – what with a dentist’s appointment at the start, yoga at the end and a dog to walk in between. I may not have done my daily pages* or a jot towards the novel or but at least I’ve done a post for my other blog, and now (bleary-eyed and floppy after a large supper and a glass of wine) I’m doing this.
And tomorrow is another day – a day when the dog goes to the dogminder and I have a whole EIGHT hours to myself between the time Frog drops the dog off on his way to work and the time the two of them arrive back home.
* Three pages of stream-of-consciousness writing at the start of the day in order to limber up, as recommended by Julia Cameron in The Artist's Way. Or, as I look at them, three pages in which to get the s*** out of the way.
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