I've been more focused on work lately. I know it's because a deadline is looming. And that deadline is summer, when my kids are home, which makes stringing coherent thoughts (that aren't motherly, martyrish rants) together difficult. Never mind conceiving clever, character development and coherent plot lines. Just kidding, I don't even have a preconceived plot, I'm just writing whatever pops into my head. Which makes writing this book kinda like reading it. I don't know what's going to happen next either.
I read something recently that we are happier at work than we are at rest. (You can play Russian roulette with the books in my recent Goodreads read list to determine the source because I don't remember.) Oh we think we're going to be happier on our own time, when we retire or if we win the lottery. But, this is completely untrue. And this notion feeds our inner sloth. Too much undirected leisure time leaves us unfocused and depressed.
When I'm busy in the work zone, I'm creative and productive. I feel alive and almost unstoppable. Almost because work always needs to be balanced with play. And then, kids get sick, snowpocalypses and gorgeous sunny days that shouldn't be wasted are constantly attempting to divert my attention and suck me right back into sloth-leisure mode. Which is just plain evil.
As with anything, the hardest part of getting down to work is always getting started. Or re-started as the case may be. And to keep going even when the momentum of the initial buzz of euphoric creative juices has tapered off and the unglamorous and relentless work of committing to the project and seeing your vision through begins. Simultaneously conquering the demons in your head who whisper you're stupid for doing it, because you suck. Unless they shout. Do it anyway.
Til one day you finish and hit...
...then, find a new project and start all over again.