Making Time

Every writer knows this one, and can talk about it for hours. There simply is not enough time to write.

This is especially true for the full-time worker--whether toiling in a factory or raising small children. But even those of us who have (nearly) grown children and no outside jobs find trouble find time, I'm sure.

It's the little things. The phone kept on ringing. Two people I wasn't expecting appeared at our front door. I ran a quick errand which took longer than I expected and produced fewer results. I went to the library with a 14-year old who decided to use that time to browse every single book (or so it seemed). Then there was a dinner invitation from a really nice couple and I just couldn't refuse. (And she has the same name as mine!)

I did manage to write a few paragraphs today in between phone calls and doorbells. At this rate, the book will be finished by 2012--if the phone doesn't always ring this much. It's already 11 p.m. But the house is quiet now and I will probably stay up for another hour or two so I can feel a little more productive.

When I was teaching full-time I dreamed of how wonderful it would be to claim my time as my own. My life is much easier now. I can't deny that. But there's always something.