Not enough time today.
That phrase plays in my mind most evenings. Not enough time to write. What I really mean is perfect time, of course.
Not enough peaceful, uninterrupted time, during which I'm wide awake.
What's too little? A half an hour? Fifteen minutes? Isn't something better than nothing at all?
Not always, at least for me. I have kept personal promises to write daily, even when it meant weeks of writing for less than half an hour at a shot. The result? A lot of fragmented bits, most of which were crap.
I can resign myself to writing a bad novel. I won't write a crap one.
I'm not winning this battle. I think I need to leave the house at least 2 nights a week and write for a few hours.
Which means commitment.
Or I can just keep blaming my lack of progress on not enough time. Funny, that was an appealing option until I admitted it was what I was doing.
Which happened just now.
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