My Writing Life vs My Real Life
There must be a difference.
My daughter cringed when I told her she can only take five-minute showers. We had just arrived at the cottage for her birthday weekend. Five days of boating and barbecuing, bike riding and sitting by the beach.
It was also five straight days without opening my laptop. That has to be some kind of record for the past ten years. Even when I’m on an all-inclusive vacation, I can’t help but slide in a few hours of writing during the early hours of the morning. But this trip was different.
Writing IS real life
I’m not someone who does very well at separating my writing life from my real life. The pieces I post here usually reflect on some kind of emotional moment or journey that I’ve had to endure. My books are fiction, but they are essentially a collection of observations mixed with my imagination written to entertain and enlighten.
I only point out these truths to show that even in my writing, I can’t avoid real life. And because my writing is so personal, the emotional strain of the process — the waiting, the inevitable criticism and rejection — lingers in my soul and impacts, on a varying scale, how much I enjoy my life.
