When I was younger, I held the philosophy that I would write when the passion struck me. I remember talking to a college English teacher about writing on a schedule. I feared writing would turn into a chore if I tried. Plus, why bother to try? I was in high school and had all the time in the world to write. Even in college, I held this luxury. In fact, one Friday night, my brother and I went to watch “The Recruit” with Al Pacino and Colin Farrell. I was so inspired to write, don’t ask me why because I was writing The Lord of Nightmares at the time, that I stayed up until one o’clock in the morning writing. It was awesome. My dog didn’t agree. That was also the night we received our first snow dusting. My brother woke him up early to go on a walk in the snow for the first time. This resulted in a hysterical picture of a tired, cold dachshund in the sweater he hated huddling by our front door.
But this is not the point of the post. 🙂 The point is, no matter how hard I worked, life was easy when I was young. I had minimal responsibility. Now, I find myself running to stay ahead of the bills. I am out and about more, trying not to be a complete hermit. I found myself never writing. I think I went over a year. Now, before judging me and saying this is proof I really shouldn’t be a writer, that I don’t have the desire, I must say during this time I felt like a part of me had died. I was grumpy and depressed. I had shut down the most important part of my identity. It didn’t feel right. Yet, no matter how much I tried, I could not find time to write. And, worse, the longer I went without writing the less the ideas came. When I did find time to write, the ideas came stilted.
