Just Thinking


 

Writers, whose souls peer out and stroke my intellect, stir me. In a cruel way, I am merely touched for a brief moment and then am left behind to navigate on my own.

Such is a writer’s life. Brief parley’s to draw closer to humanity; too brief to develop into personal lasting relationships. Who has the time to devote to mingling among like-minded souls? How important is this function to a writer?

Time is the ultimate fiend. We procure it in our hands to do with what we choose; but all the while, there appear too many courses, which we might delve into, and waste tiny moments that add up to hours, days and weeks. Time lost, in selecting what the imperative thing is to do, can be debilitating.

I am at present reading three books. The Book Thief, Middlemarch, and Oliver Twist. This project is quite on hold for the moment. However, since Christmas, I have read, Gone With the Wind, Murder at the Vicarage, and Northanger Abbey. If I do not plant myself down to finish what I have begun, it becomes stagnant.

I spend a fair amount of time on my blogging along with my photography. This month, April 2014, I have committed to writing a poem a day for Napowrimo. Difficult to keep up is an understatement. (Photos Are Worth a Thousand Words) is the blog to read these.

 

Babysitting has entered my life unexpectedly, as of last November, following my mother’s death. My eldest daughter required a double mastectomy and reconstruction a month ago, and will soon be starting chemo treatments. I spent two weeks with her to help out, and I think I will be needed once again when treatments are active.

 

Speaking of time, how does one manipulate the hours into progressive, untainted writing time? Speaking for myself, it seems that when I make a commitment, all hell breaks lose. How about you?

 

 

 

 

 

 

. I am at present reading three books. The Book Thief, Middlemarch, and Oliver Twist. This project is quite on hold for the moment. However, since Christmas, I have read, Gone With the Wind, Murder at the Vicarage, and Northanger Abbey. If I do not plant myself down to finish what I have begun, it becomes stagnant.

 

I spend a fair amount of time on my blogging and photography. This month, April 2014, I have committed to writing a poem a day for Napowrimo. Difficult to keep up is an understatement.

 

Babysitting has entered my life unexpectedly, as of last November, following my mother’s death. My eldest daughter required a double mastectomy and reconstruction a month ago, and will soon be starting chemo treatments. I spent two weeks with her to help out, and I think I will be needed once again when treatments are active.

 

Speaking of time, how does one manipulate the hours into progressive, untainted writing time? Speaking for myself, it seems that when I make a commitment, all hell breaks lose. How about you?

 

 

 

 

 

 

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8 thoughts

  1. Writer’s are more the lone wolf type in general but every writer I’ve read about has had meaningful, though sometimes tumultuous, relationships with other writers. Tolkien and Lewis, Fitzgerald and Hemingway, Joyce and Beckett… Iron sharpens iron—mentoring is big too

  2. Time is really a precious commodity. There’s so much I want to do but never enough time and I find myself having to make priorities and drop stuff. As we get older, we realize more how time just flies and so it’s best to make the best of it. 🙂

    • That is the whole thing in a nutshell. Trying to choose the right things and what to drop. Not easy when I have family demands and as I get older, the energy level decreases. At least, for me it has. Compared to a couple of years ago, my energy is like whirlwind to a breeze.

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