Some days I feel like a time traveler, traveling between two universes.
If I want to be a writer, I need to write regularly. This is true: nothing can teach me more about writing than the act of writing itself. The more I write, the better writer I’ll be.
So I have to give myself the chance, the time, the opportunity to write regularly. Some days, I set my sights small, and I write a little bit, only 15 or 30 minutes. Other days, I crawl out of bed at 5 a.m. and write for two hours.
Here’s another truth: my writing life, like my real life, is always slipping away from me. There is never enough time for writing; it is a parallel universe where every moment spent in my real life is a moment missed in my very, interesting and entertaining writing life, and vice versa. Some days, like today, when I’ve got professorly duties, plus family and life obligations, I’d like to be locked in windowed room, with food anonymously lelt for me.
But that’s not life, is it?
The best I can do is tell myself: Don’t. Forget. To. Write.