The writing life

It seems sort of crazy now, but among the many items on my To Worry About list before leaving home was "what if I'm not able to write?". I've never had writer's block, but then again I've never had time devoted just to writing. At home, if I don't feel like writing or don't have anything I want to write about, or am at a crisis point in whatever I'm working on, I just don't. I bake cookies or watch Modern Family.

Or, I'd find some other writing-type work to do. Actually writing new material makes up a smaller percentage of my "writing" time than you'd probably think. So much is spent on editing -- the big life-altering changes and the tiny picks to line breaks and commas. And then there's submissions and researching markets and all those other business-end parts of writing.

So, even though I've long craved such an expanse of time just to write, I wasn't exactly sure how I'd end up spending my time.

But, other than my first day sitting here, sitting down, opening my notebook and thinking: "OK, now what?" none of that has been an issue. And sure, it's only been two weeks -- plenty of time for things to go awry -- but so far my time has been remarkably productive. It's really amazing what you can do with a whole day sprawling before you.

Most mornings have started with a leisurely sleep in and reading myself awake, followed by some puttering and possible exercise, and breakfast. (I'm so thankful yogurt is the Esperanto of food.) Then I make my way to the convent, where I spend 5 or 6 hours writing and following the sun (or shade) around the garden.

Then it's home for Facebook scrabble, whatever Internet research is required for the next day, dinner, wine, some more writing. And then it's a bedtime gmail chat with J. before he leaves work* and, perhaps, an episode of Mad Men. (* some variations on weekends.)

So far, it's working.