What is your writing kryptonite?
I am making this post late in the week due to traveling. I hit mass transit and took an Amtrak train upstate for a writers’ retreat. My home life includes a daily hustle of juggling the demands that come from being a mother, instructor, and professional writer.
Nope, I wish it was like that for me. I drop stuff all the time.
I have to take care of my kids. I mean, I made them, so I should feed them, right? They’re cute, so I also like to spend time with them and their dad. He has a super busy schedule too, and I will drop everything to have couple time whenever he gets a break. I make no apologies.
The numerous request I receive to contribute to online publications affords me a way to put my voice out there as a cultural critic, anti-racism advocate, and have an additional stream of income. I’m at the beginning stages of my authorship, so the money is not flowing—yet. I must earn my bread and butter somewhere, and writing is my knife.
Despite my best efforts planning—my calendar and Keep lists look great, and I set all kinds of reminders—those darn twenty-four hours will not budge. So, I usually end up forgetting tasks (like looking at the damn calendar and Keep lists) or pushing them over to the next day.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m pretty dope at a lot of things, but I never have enough time to do it all. I have to make cuts, and it is usually my creative writing that gets the shears. On those rare occasions that I do get to put storytelling first, it means sidelining other responsibilities.
I can be super with the best of them. Unfortunately, one of my powers is not the ability to add more hours to the day. A finite amount of time to write is my kryptonite. Characters and ideas bounce around my head, but getting a chance to sit and let them out is a huge challenge. I’m drained by the strain of effectively managing time and the realities that throw all my plans out of wack on a regular basis.
I’m weakened by the pulls on my talent and my inability to turn down projects. In my head, it all seems doable. I’m such a deluded sucker. Well, not totally, I do have the sense to pick up my laptop and run into hiding any chance I get, putting as much distance as possible between my kryptonite and me. Hence, the trip upstate. Invigorated by quiet and the ability to focus, my creative juices flow.
Like Superman, I can’t change the effect my “time kryptonite” has on me, so I just have to drag my sorry butt away from it.
Back to work.