Just as I’d begun to feel more positive about setting myself targets and focusing on writing for two nights a week, suddenly it seems to be breaking down again. Or maybe that’s just the way life works: as soon as you get over one tough patch another appears just to test you.
So last night, instead of making up for lost time on Monday, I find myself only getting in an hour of writing and again feeling too tired to really do it justice. Josh had had an afternoon sleep (which he did need) so he was very alert well into the night. I’d also promised that we’d read to the end of Harry Potter and Goblet of Fire without realising how long those last chapters were! (After reading the four books in a row, it’s a bit of a relief. I was beginning to write in the style of JK Rowling, which is not something I really want to do.)
And despite my promise to myself to focus only on writing on writing nights, there were still jobs that needed doing: washing to put in the machine, washing up, tidying (which I ignored in the end), sandwiches to make for lunch the next day, watering the plants (why won’t it just rain?! This is England!) and getting everything ready for a quick start in the morning.
So it was 9:30 before I started writing, and 10:40 when I realised that I had to stop so that I could at least get a decent-ish amount of sleep before getting up and starting all over again.
And I ask myself: Is it really worth it? My friends get home from work and spend the evening reading books or watching television. I’m tying myself in knots just trying to get a couple of hours here and there to write a book that may not ever get published. Is there a purpose to what I’m doing? If I want to be busy, why don’t I get the ironing done, or see about finishing off my kitchen (six months since I started to get it done)? You know, practical things that have a tangible result.
But a pile of nicely iron clothes isn’t really that much of an achievement. And would I really want to spend my evening deadening my mind with Eastenders or America’s New Top Model? Does the fact that I have no architrave around the doors in my kitchen really matter?
So maybe I’ll just keep on writing – even if it is just to be bloody-minded and not give in.