Nope. Nothing at all. Or, well, not really anything. Pretty much nil with just little suggestions of maybe a bit of a possibility of something that may (or may not) materialize.
Hmmmm.
Still not a lot to add to the above.
Except...
No. Not even that, I guess.
Last night I was pondering why I don't write more and I came up with the very certain (and possibly completely fabricated) realization that it's because I'm afraid I'd end up not sleeping, ignoring my family, & resenting my paying job and any other similarly trivial distractions. And those feelings would be in direct conflict with my equally strong obligation to order, structure, and the lifestyle to which my family and I have become accustomed (ie., one with a roof over our heads).
Shoot. You can see my dilemma, right?
I reckon the next step is to find a creative solution. Like, for example, I could stop thinking in such extreme terms, maybe. I mean, what's to say I can't set up 1 hour writing time 2 nights during the week and another 2 hour chunk guaranteed on Sundays? And what's to say I can't start to wean myself off of the artificial should-do's a bit more?
It apparently is a slow process. I've had this conversation in my head, with friends, and on the internet before now. Kinda like Groundhog Day, huh, D?
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