Pinching minutes. It’s what I’ve been doing lately in order to find time to edit. Now that school is back in session, I don’t have the long hours I had in the summer to ignore my editing, I need to ferret out enough minutes of the day to put words to paper… or keyboard. Whatever.
Here’s the dig, during the summer, when I had ample amounts of time, it was taken up with other things, yard work, mucking out rooms, discovering long-buried boxes of treasure stashed away for the last decade. Definitely important stuff.
But so is writing. Writing is what I hope will be a source of income at some point in my life and needs to be worked at on a daily basis. So why is it such a hard thing to do when daily tasks loom and lure me away.
Because writing is a pleasure (for the most part; editing gives me gas) and what did we learn as children? “Work before pleasure.” What if your work IS pleasure?
Then you’re a writer with a guilt complex looking for enough lost minutes to cob together enough time to finish one more page.
My partner doesn’t get it. “Just write,” she says, and my reply is always, “I’d love to, but there’s so much to do.” There is so much to do, and there will always BE so much to do, but there is writing to be done or someday the stories will be lost. If I’m going to tell those stories, then I must be a writer and write them.
So I pinch minutes in the morning, allowing myself two hours to write before I must get ready for my other job. The one that pays the bills for now. Next summer, I’m going to attempt a better schedule, one that includes writing AFTER the sun comes up.