It's Friday - Spring Break Friday - so it's one of those bittersweet days where I take stock of all the things that I didn't accomplish on this week off. There's also quite a bit I DID do, but I'm neurotic so we're focusing on my failings today :)
I've discovered that if I take all the knitting projects I've got piled up, the books waiting for me to read them, the genealogy data I need to slog through.... my life is essentially claimed. I mean the whole thing - no time for sleeping, eating, bathing, parenting, working or writing. What this means is that I will die poor and stinky of exhaustion, but my friends will have hats for their babies, I will die well read, and I'll be able to say "Hey, I know you!" to my ancestors when I arrive in the afterlife.
So how do we balance these things, not only as writers, but as human beings?
Hobbies are awesome until we're no longer doing them for pleasure. It's the process that's supposed to be enjoyable, not the end result. Do I want to hate every stitch I make, but love the sweater? Do I resent the time I put into reading, just to be able to say "I read that?" Obviously no, if that's the approach, we've missed the point.
I think the same is true of writing. If I sit down and I'm hating every word, or writing them only to fill in blank spaces, or hit that goal for the day - I don't think I'm accomplishing anything. Sure, it's not just a hobby now, it's my career. But it's a career by choice. I do it because I'm incapable of NOT doing it, if that makes sense. In other words, if the muse isn't talking today, I'm OK with that.
She'll be back :)