It's taken awhile, but I am finally back to blogging and writing on a kind of schedule. It's not that I haven't been writing: I have. Only mentally. I write great stuff when I can't sleep or when I'm on line at the supermarket. Really great stuff, like blockbusters. You wouldn't be able to put them down.

Then I get home and the translation from that book I thought of, like the entire story, somehow doesn't come out all that well when I begin the first chapter. 

I know why. Because writing is work. Really hard work. You really can't outline an entire book while waiting to check out at Trader Joe's.

So why haven't I been writing? Same old. Time. Lack of time. Yawn. I've decided that what that means, really, is priority. It's true that I work and have three kidults and two codependent cats and probably some sort of issue with procrastination and anxiety. I accept all that. 

But..

I still manage to get quite a bit done in a day...except writing. Writing is gluing the butt to the chair and not procrastinating by baking some brownies or cleaning out the old magazines. Who wants that?

It's not really a matter of wanting. I need to write for some inexplicable reason. I've thought about this for a very long time and I still don't know why. Maybe it's a disorder of some kind. Maybe it's some part of my brain that needs to overshare experience and veil it all in characters. Maybe it's possession. 

I only know that I have shuffled my life around pretty seriously to get a straight shot at some free time to write and I'm back at it. And that's hopeful at a time when little else is.