Hmmm, this post is a bit late. I try to get ’em out there for the weekend. But I’ve been working some long hours at the bakery these days, and I’m finding I’m too tired at the end of the day to have anything very readable to say. Which raises the question…
…is writing work? Sometimes it feels like it, even though there’s no paycheck attached, and no boss watching–except my own conscience. But when I was 10,11, 12–heck, right up until college, writing always felt FUN. It was a place I could be completely myself, like going into my own room (which I never had until my sister left home).
And now? Writing feels like work, I realize, only when there is a deadline attached: “You have to have this done by Sunday.” It becomes homework, I think, and brings back that kind of tension in my stomach. So that’s when I decided I would give myself a couple of days, so my words could be plump and fresh, not some stale things I dragged out of my dusty mental cupboard.
How about you? When is writing work? When isn’t it? Let us hear.