And All I Wanted to do was Write

I am in my 40s, and I have waited almost that long to finally sit down and start writing, really writing. Stories from as far back as middle school have walked alongside me, some more quietly than others, waiting patiently for me to finally bring them to light.

My mind is not without ideas, it seems as though everything around me holds some element of a story, a scene, a character, a possibility. What is missing here is the time to write. Since Amethyst Eyes has come out, I find that I have even less time to write than before. I write guest posts for articles and blogs, I deal with marketing, promoting and coaching other authors and I still have homework to do. I have my own blog, website, marketing and promoting to deal with as well.

Throughout all this, I have a life…my home, husband and children; I work part-time for the Canadian Forces. Only when all this is done can I sit down to write. Of course by then I am ready to pass out.
But I need to write. The voices can no longer be silenced, the urge controlled. I need to get them out of my head and heart so they can take on a life of their own. With the start of the training year, and the end of my writing course, I am struggling to find a rhythm.

Did I know or even understand any of this when I started writing? No. Maybe it was a good thing because I might not have thrown myself into this strange world of being an author. As it is now, I have three more novels getting closer to publication, so I have managed to find the time to write, but more through stolen moments than structured or allotted writing time. My husband thinks I’m cute, trying to write, taking it so seriously…unfortunately he doesn’t take it seriously enough. At least he doesn’t complain about it.

What am I going to do about it? I’m going to keep writing…be it stolen moments or an afternoon of peaceful writing time (one can always hope). With a bit of luck my marketing skills will improve and the task become easier, my routine will level out and I will be able to have writing time. After all, all I wanted to do was write.