A working holiday

People complain about not having time to do things: read, exercise, work out and so on. What they really mean is that the thing they have no time for just isn't important to them. Want to find time to read a book? Turn off American Idol and read. Want to get fit? Well stop hitting the snooze button and go run.

Once I was a complainer. I wanted to write a book but who has time right? Then I realised that if i went to bed at 10pm instead of 12, I could get up at 5 or 6, write , and then go to work. All I'd miss out on was watching crap TV and maybe drinking a beer or two that I didn't need. That moment changed my life. It suddenly brought me time to write and exercise and do all the things I love to do.

Now I write when I can. When I can steal the time. Early in the morning while everyone is asleep, during lunch hours at work and very occasionally in the evenings. I do it because I want to do it. Writing brings me more happiness than an extra hour in bed or talk crap over a pub lunch with colleagues. It makes me excited for the future and gives me the opportunity to dream.

This week however, things are a bit different. I have a huge amount of holiday to use up so I've taken the week off to spend every day writing. It's a wonderful luxury and a taste of what life could be like if I did do this full time. I've managed two days of 2,500 words and really enjoyed every minute I've spent up in my little attic.

The only danger has been the urge to procrastinate and do other things because suddenly I'm not racing against the clock. I have time so why not waste it? Of course, I could call writing this blog post 'work' but I know it's not. So that's all for now. I have lives to destroy and hopes to crush in my little book.