I realized that when I was pushing my way through my novel, I forgot the most important thing. That is, I am writing this book for my own pleasure. If I’m only thinking about how to finish the book as fast as possible, or how many words I need to accomplish each day, it sort of defeats the purpose. God knows how envious I am of those people who could effortlessly write long blog posts. I’ve seen people describe their day in vivid details with two, three-thousand words easily. If it were me, with my snail-like speed, I would be writing whole day with no time for anything else. Besides, I found my mood could directly influence my protagonist’s behavior in my story – she had been a little too serious lately and she no longer seemed to be having fun. So I decided to take a breather on my writing.
Without the excuse of novel writing, I could no longer do these “super light” posts any more. Even though, to be entirely honest, I have not really been using the time saved from these simplified blog posts to write my book. My cat is biting his own tail at my feet, as if to say, “I’m bored of your excuses.” In my defense not all distractions were excuses. Skiing was fun and provided me with some much needed exercises; I spent a fun night at the musical for “book research”; I went to the museum this afternoon, though it has nothing to do with the book, at least no one can call it a “waste of time”.
I think my problem is that all my interests require time to cultivate, and I simply don’t have time to do all of them. I love too many things. I spread myself too thin.
And yesterday after dinner, I decided to read in bed, just for a little while, before getting up to work on whatever I need to work on. The bed was so soft and comfy, and before long I was completely gone. In my dream I was trying to wake myself up: “Get up, you need to pick up your husband at the airport. He is standing at the curb waiting for you. Get up. Get up now!”
You see, that’s my life. And now you know why I didn’t post anything yesterday.