Working.

I want to be here. I want to write. I really do. I have so many stories ideas. Characters and plots and cool things to write down. Some of them might even be worthwhile.

But there's the dayjob. And then the freelance. And the kids. And their schedules. And Kerri's ever-rotating shiftwork; some days, some nights, some weekends, some not, 14 hours gone where I'm here to be both Mom & Dad. I'm now working a lot more hours between the dayjob and the freelance in order to barely make the salary I had before I was laid off. (If I'm lucky, that is.) That's the world we live in now, I suppose. "Work twice as hard for the same paycheck." Suck it up. Be a man. Quit complaining.

This is my life.

I suppose I shouldn't complain. Things could be worse. A lot worse. And there are many out there for whom it IS worse.

But I'm weary. No doubt about it.

The stories will have to wait. It breaks my heart to leave them on my braindesk, unattended. A scribble here. A note there. A killer phrase I want the heroine to say when she learns of her twin sister. But there's so little time in my day for writing. For 18 months I was burdened with such an overabundance of time ... but it was craptime. I was so stressed about Not Having A Job that I couldn't focus on writing. There was neither energy nor inspiration to be found. Now that I find some inspiration, there's little time.

So it goes.

Comments

[Alan Cox]

Hey Murph - I just checked your blog for the first time in ages. Delighted to hear you broke your duck on the job front (to use a very English expression) and that things are looking up in general.

Best of luck with everything.

Alan