A Room of My Own
I have 9,000,000 things to do, and like the 9,000,000 inhabitants of NYC, they're all screaming in my head and overwhelming me, so I am sitting down to write instead.
Because that is not on my list of things to do.
And it should be.
Charity of Writing Wrongs (yes, I'm big on Writing Wrongs this week) sent out an article from Mslexia Magazine. It was sort of the first issue manifesto. It was "A Room of One's Own" for the 21st Century, and darn it, many of the issues that Virginia Woolf wrote about are still with us.
Looking at my life and its chaos and thinking about my dreams and what I'm not doing for them, I spent several days creating a space, if not a room, of my own.
I know where things are now. I know how to find my current notes on my current book projects. I have enough room to spread out writing projects. I have things backed up.
And yet, I continue to be haunted by blank pages and minutes stolen here or there.
I've planned three pockets of time within the week when I have stretches of time to write. Four hours on Mondays, two hours on Thursdays, Friday afternoons.
Now, the question is whether or not I will be able to shut out the noise of my life - should I be using that time to correct papers, order materials, clean house, make dinners, heal wounds, - all the things of being a mom, a daughter, a friend, a teacher.
But, you know, my sister died just shy of 49.
I'm 47 and counting.
What's the worst that could happen with a few forgotten dinners?
