I’ve spent a lot of the last three years of my life not writing. Most of my time, really. It’s unsurprisingly easy to not write. I’ve spent more time shaving than I’ve spent writing, and I have a beard. I’ve spent more time accidentally watching soap operas (as my gaze drifts to a nearby airport television…) than I’ve spent writing. I’ve spent more time drinking tea than writing, and I’m primarily a coffee drinker. Sometimes when I drink coffee I get all amped up and decide to write. But then I just sit there sort of vibrating in caffeine-induced anxiety and also still not writing.
It’s a lot easier to not do than do, to consume than create, to stay than go. So this year I’ll try to write more than I read (or at least up the percentage), and create more than I consume. I don’t seem to have a problem with the staying and going bit, so you know, checkmark on that one I guess.
When I lived in my motorhome I wrote all the time. Partly because you spend a lot of time silently reflecting on the life choices that led to living in a motorhome on the side of the road. Partly because I had something interesting and novel to write about. When I quit my job and sold everything to travel full-time, I thought I’d have even more to write about. It was true for a little while, but eventually you start feeling like what you’re doing is normal. And who wants to read about normal stuff? But when I come home from my travels and talk to people who are so interested in what I’m doing, and year after year they ask when I’ll start writing again… you have to give in to your fans at some point. So for my biggest fans (my mom and her friends Mary and Sue) this blog is for you.