Much to do and little time to do it. But this is the old sin of a creative person, that habit of procrastination. We aren’t driven unless we are under the clock, or writhing with guilt?  But that cannot be the only thing that drives us on, it just can’t be. It’s unhealthy, so bad for the spirit. (Yeah, I didn’t just make that up. That’s the shades of Steven Pressfield and Julia Cameron hanging around with me.)

So we have to take care of our Selves because no one else will do it for us. Take care of our Spirits. And we have to make the proper amount of time to write, otherwise we will spend the rest of the day distracted, thinking about the notes we did not jot down, dreams from the night before, a To-Do list to keep ourselves on track instead of hurtling through our lives like a kid in a mine car a la Indiana Jones. Full disclosure: this is not something I’ve always done… this is a “new thing” in this writers life, and it seems to have fallen in quite nicely. And falls off. Then I pick it back up again…

So if it matters, gotta make a plan. Take care of the plan and allow for deviating from it because stuff happens.  But just make sure the words arrive, eh?

This morning doing some blogging and preparing to drive down to the city to meet up with a fascinating bunch of writers, authors, and artists of varied stripe. Looking forward to new faces and soaking in the vibe. Not looking forward to getting lost and walking around the same block twice, but hey. If that’s the worst that happens today, no biggie.  Note to self: Update flash drive files and take the right one with me, helloooo…

There’s been a lot of writing going on in my head lately and I think it’s because the House of Writers retreat is still creeping around inside my body like immortal red blood cells, unseen but doing their job, keeping the inspiration going.  I suppose it’s my job to keep vibe going, to put more fire on the coals, every. single. day. And whenever the words strike.  I miss my friends and wish I could see them all the time. I know “absence makes the heart grow fonder” and I know if we lived together, communal-like, we’d wind up getting on each others nerves, so I take the precious few hours allowed us each year and hold them close.  They are dearer to me than family, and maybe that’s a sin to pronounce, but I don’t care. Truth is truth, and that’s what this life is about.

Time to shift gears, not just in the writing but do the girly thing and figure out an outfit to wear. I’m thinking something black. With boots. And a leather wristband.  And a shirt, I suppose.