However, the fatigue of writing until midnight has set in. The most creative and engaged people I know are in bed by 8:30, and I used to be able to do that, but lately, I am questioning everything, and the sleep seems like extra hours when I could be doing something fun. Boy, yawn, so I had to write. I had to read other's writing, to critique.
To put my life in perspective I work about 40 hours a week and write every other minute that I can.
I had a little snafu last night, I was supposed to meet with my writing group at 5 pm, unfortunately at the same time my local CSA scheduled a new drop off point. I had to get to it or I would miss out on the FIRST LETTUCE OF THE SEASON, oh so tender. So I went, but the return trip took forty minutes and I ended out being a half hour late to my group. I think they were all occupied by their own work schedule so I think they never showed up, because in spite of my emails to everyone, no one was there. But who would be? It's North Dakota, and a beautiful day of any kind means you stay outside until the weather turns bad, which is most of the rest of the year.
I finally made it at 5:30 or 5:40 and about 15 minutes later, one of the playwrights showed up, and we chatted and wrote. I ended out with the creme de la creme. Oh, and the reality, that even if you have a group you are gathering with that has no commitment, they still might expect you to be punctual.
So I wrote, or should I say, rewrote some more. No free writing, which is a problem.
But now I am looking at that tree, that is three times what it was when I moved here and populated with chirruping birds, and the cool air is a relief from a schedule I couldn't keep.
I have to remember my Gremlin, I think he was talking to me, my Inner Critic and my Gremlin are great buddies, you should see them cavort and play.
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