Toiling below the surface

In which I relocate to accumulate

Hello all,

I’m back.

And my writing retreat was very successful, thanks for asking – though I do feel mildly dismayed that sometimes the only way to get any serious work done is to forcibly remove all possible distractions. I admire those people who manage to write their novels a sentence at a time, during a 20-minute commute, or sitting in the car during their kid’s ballet lesson – but I know that for every one of them there are many others for whom life’s daily demands completely crowd out any possibility of sustained creativity.

A scene from one of my afternoon walks

I don’t even have a particularly busy life, compared to various people I know who are juggling full-time jobs with hobbies and caring responsibilities. Yet I still find it hard to make time for projects that don’t have a contract, a deadline, or the justification of being for other people’s benefit. And there’s never going to be a moment when my inbox is empty, my to do list is all crossed off, and there’s no laundry to put away. People are always going to be asking things of me. Eventually, I tell myself, I’m just going to have to draw a line, and stick to it.