There's an old adage...

It says something about how things always happen for a reason. It doesn't have to be preordained or destined. It can just be a reason to find new meaning or motivation. A reason to look at where you are, compare it to where you've always wanted to be and make that change.

I've never been without work before. It's hard. I've spent my lifetime as a writer resenting the hell out of a society that believes my ideal path is impractical and, therefore, unrealistic - because I felt I had to prioritize a career over my passion. The kids and I took the opportunity to spend the last half of the summer together. We've never done that. There was a lot of decompression, and after such a major unexpected and, honestly, beneficial, lifestyle change, it was very much needed. We adjusted, evolved and grew.

But ever since the kids have gone back to school, I've been pushing myself to be more consistent with my writing schedule. I get up every morning and get kids ready and out the door for school, I put my three and half miles in, brew my coffee, and by nine-thirty, I'm busting ass on Home. It's so amazing to create freely and uninhibited by anxiety and exhaustion. I can't remember the last time I felt this in control and alive. The air is clear. There's no light at the end of a tunnel because there is no tunnel. There is only the story and I, pushing each other to be better and more courageous.

I've been writing since I was eleven. I've been rattling at this lock for the majority of my life, and this is the first time, in all that time, that I've ever been able just to sit and do some actual work. The work that makes you the writer. The hard push and shit shoveling that it can be. It's the real test. By the time my morning is underway, and I sit down, I can get in a good six hours of pure work. Home is coming along so wonderfully even when it's trying to kill me. It's a much different experience than working a few hours every night, after a long day of suicide by tiny increments for someone else's bullshit.

My shit is focused. On my morning walks, I work out what I want to touch on for the day. Get my brain working through the story to see where it wants to go. By the time I get back, it's fire (as the kids say).

Most likely these posts will not only become less long winded but more stagnant as well. While I enjoy them, there is a lot of real work to be done, and this story isn't telling itself. It sure as hell isn't paying the bills. Not yet, anyway.

I'm going to take a break and see IT tomorrow morning after my walk. Maybe I'll try to get something written up quickly afterward but maybe not until the weekend. We'll have to see. 

Always forward. Forward always.

Writing is the only thing that, when I do it, I don’t feel I should be doing something else.
— Gloria Steinem