Time to Write (2)

Writing-Header

It continues…

On and on and on, it just continues… on.

It continues… it’s time for me to write again, time for me to write; time to write… Time… time… time…

Again…

Time…

It’s time to work on something new… something fresh.

New…

And who has time to write, let alone time to write something new?

Something fresh…

Fresh…

Yesterday I had to market… damn; I had to market.  If I don’t market and reach other people, who will read my stuff?  And if no one reads my stuff what’s the point of writing it?  Are you still a Writer if no one reads your work?

Did that tree make a sound when it fell in the forest and no one was there and no one heard it?

The sound of one hand clapping…

Philosophy…

Marketing…

So I marketed… a whole fucking day of “analyticals”, and programs, and positions, and maybes, mights and could bes… a whole fucking day of we “could do this”, “this might work” or “perhaps”

And I know nothing… so what to do?

I think I know how to write… And I want to write; but as I want people to read what I’ve written I have to market to them to get them involved in my work.

And I have a lot of work out there.

So I’m not writing new stuff right now, I’m marketing and marketing takes time.

Marketing…

So here I am marketing and not writing…

Time…

And what of the stuff of daily life I have to do; survival…  Who’s going to walk the dog, feed the dog, feed me…  Sometimes even I have to go to the bathroom.  And exercise… I have to move other body parts than just my fingers.

At least occasionally…

And out of this fucking house… away from my desk, the computer screen; I must get away, out…  I have to escape.

I must…

At least occasionally…

So time, who has time… it all takes so much time.

Time…

And all I want to do is write.

And there is no time… there is no time to write.

So I skimp on survival.

Food… I’ll cook a form of protein for Freud to mix in to his dry kibble for the next few days and make some toast for me.  Sour dough bread, lightly toasted with butter for breakfast, more sour dough toast with some cream cheese for lunch… add some fruit preserves for variety at dinner… And watermelon, cut watermelon; a piece here, a piece there… a cut chunk of watermelon as hunger rolls over me during the day, a chunk of cold cut fruit taken from an open plastic container of chunks in the refrigerator.

Hunger eased… who has time to make all that toast; I go back to what I was doing.

Or I walk the dog again lest I forget his needs…

And then I go back to…

Back to…

Back to…

Marketing…

Not writing… marketing.

Sucks…

Time…

And I was so pleased with myself just a few days ago…

Pleased…

I’d finished another book last week.

Yup…

I’d finished another book and pleased was I…

Pleased…

I’m not so pleased any longer…

The book ain’t finished; the book has to be edited.

Time…

And so far, in my free time, when I haven’t been marketing… or dealing with survival… so far I’ve edited out eight, nine or ten thousand words from that finished book; I’ve cut some 40 plus chapters to shreds as I reconfigure my purpose, rephrase my intent, and reposition my entire raison d’être` for putting those hundred thousand words together.

And so I edit… I reinterpret my intent, reposition my characters, and rephrase my words.

I edit…

And then I go back to marketing.

A chunk of watermelon anyone?

The dog… I have to walk Freud.

Editing… editing… I don’t like that word; that phrase, that chapter… editing…

Editing…

Marketing…

Marketing…

So who has time to write?

Time to write…

Sucks…

Time…

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