Sometimes life moves very quickly. For someone who lives at home and no friends, I've been incredibly busy the last couple weeks. Which is nice in most respects except (A) I wasn't sure I was going resist collapsing from exhaustion yesterday, (C) I'm completely missed *two* Bones episodes, and (C) the Nicholl deadline is now a week away.
Last time I checked, I think I was on page 12.
One of the most frustrating things about writing is fitting it into the schedule. Trying to balance life and writing and employment requires more grace than I am known to have. Having a job means coming home exhausted and drained. Taking trips means several days that are a complete wash. Pursing other hobbies means less time time to write. Add in friends, and I'm pretty sure I've suddenly become overbooked. There are so many ways NOT to write that it's a wonder anything ever gets written at all.
But it means that those who really want to write will. It takes sacrifice and discipline, something I did not show when I come home last night, threw on sweats, and proceeded to watch several hours of television. The key is balance, though. I don't think that it's worth missing out on life in order to write. The writing relationships is one of the only ones that actually suffers from monogamy.
Oh, and deadlines are incredibly helpful with productivity.
It also helps that I've now finished watching the first two seasons of the BBC Robin Hood series online. I'm going to go through severe bouts of withdrawal now that I have to wait for my DVDs to come in the mail. Netflix is such a tease.