Some of them self-imposed. Like Googling for random things as and when the thought took me.
My son went to sleep a bit earlier tonight, but only because I sat with him to stop him from getting up or playing with toys. I know the experts say you shouldn’t, but it was more effective than going downstairs and leaving him to it. (2 hours more effective, to be exact.)
But what with that, the cat and various people phoning me, it was nearly 10 when I got round to properly doing some work. I’d decided to leave the novel for tonight, and get on with a short story that I’ve had on the go for a while. I want to submit it to a magazine – and the only way I’ll do that is to finish it off! Eventually made good progress, so I’m quite pleased with myself.
But I still feel frustrated at how little time I have – and how much time I squandered pre-motherhood. If only I’d known then. I could have been so productive!
I was talking to a friend the other day who said that she’d love to write, but couldn’t think of anything to write. I just couldn’t understand that. I have so many ideas, my problem is trying to focus on one for long enough.
At the moment, I have the book I’m writing, as well as a couple of ideas for books that could be adapted as films, there’s a play I’d like to write, I’ve got an idea for a sitcom (not a very good one, I must admit) – and they’re just the ones off the top of my head. I’ve got notebooks full of ideas – and only 45 minutes a day (if I’m lucky!) to realise them all.