I've been checking out the blogs of other writers. Most of them talk about how many thousand of words they write. Recently I chanced on one in which the guy talks about writing 14,000 words in a day.
     Yikes.
     How does he find time to just live? You know, go to work, do laundry, eat a meal, gas your car, see a movie with a friend, etc. I love writing. I do it more than I do anything else, but I don't think I'd be happy if I gave it every single moment. Admittedly, I'd like more time to write, but those other things keep a roof over my head and food in my stomach. I think if writing is your only friend, you need to get out more. Moderation in all things, as Paul says.
     Does this mean I lack commitment? Some would probably say so. I don't think so. Writing has been my constant companion since I learned how. I have journals, poems and stories from my sixth and seventh grade. (I spent a lot of time calling various people "stinky." What a grasp of language I had even then.) Give me a pencil and paper, and I'll write something, be it a letter, play dialogue, a character sketch, random musing and so on. So I know that I'm committed to writing. Reading those other blogs give me pause, though.
     I was sharing this with a friend of mine, and he says those other writers are lying dogs. That's comforting, but I'm not sure I buy it. I know I could produce more if I didn't spend eight to nine hours a day on an emotionally exhausting job. The job, however, allows me to keep pace with my debt as well as gain a bit on it.
     I just don't know. It all seems to be a juggling act, stealing time from one love to give to another. Such is life, I guess.

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