Back before I had a full-time job, when I lived in a remote area, before I drove a car and could accept a last-minute invitation to go riding or kayaking or whatever, it was easy to get my writing done. Now, even working in an industry that allows me a three-day weekend, finding time to write is hard. Summers are just so busy, and even now the fall weather beckons. It's just so nice out. Too nice to sit inside. I'm the sort of person who has to get my writing done first thing in the morning, when my head is a blank slate and the words flow better. Unfortunately, when I'm fresh and well rested and could get some writing done, there are other things that take my attention away.
Overall, it's a good thing to be busy. Yes, it would be nice to be cranking out new material, to wrap up my adult equestrian series (at least for now) and move on to a new project. I have some ideas that would be fun to pursue, but no time to make that happen. My work-in-progress is three-quarters done, and I'm damned if I'll leave it there indefinitely, but that's how things have ended up. It sits, waiting. It's quiet and doesn't demand attention. I'll get to it eventually.
I know I am happier now than when I had all the time in the world to write. I do love creating things, and I'm good at it, but I struggled with the isolation that comes with the territory. More than that, I find it frustrating to write for an audience that can be fickle, to spend years of my life creating something that may not take off in the way I think it should.
And while I haven't been writing, I've been living, something I didn't get to do enough of when I was younger. I've worked with my horse, learning new things and taking our dressage to the next level. I've trail ridden, gone to shows, gone to the lake. There have been kayaking adventures and a late night at the rodeo, fireworks, and many early Saturday mornings spent at auctions and estate sales. A move up to a new job, a new shift, new possibilities.
In my younger years, when my mind would wander, I would see things through the eyes of my characters. I would be plotting and world-building all the time, my brain in non-stop motion. I can't do that anymore. For better or worse, now when I have too much time to think, I think about my life, my memories, my uncertain future.
I think that's a good thing.
And I know when winter comes and the snow piles up, slowing everything down, I will write again.
One of my best memories from this summer.