If I needed any more reasons to convince myself that writing retreats are invaluable, the past few days would count. Since returning from the island, life (work, house, social, and summer sport!) has completely gotten in the way.
I managed an early start yesterday, but spent my precious time reading over what I wrote on the weekend. Although I added a few sentences, it was a half-hearted attempt. So I have put this evening aside to write. I am prioritising it over everything else -- facebook, TV, work (and I do have quite a lot of that I should be doing), and blogging (this is going to be a short post!).
Why then am I having trouble getting into it? Down at the island, I could sit in front of the computer at any time of day -- even late in the evening -- and I could focus instantly. This evening, all I do is seek procrastination activities (hmm, I guess you could call this post one of them!). Was it the company? The lack of distractions such as the internet? The unspoken desire not to ruin it for my writing companion?
Perhaps it was the feverish intensity that comes when you grant yourself permission to focus on writing -- no guilt. Such a weekend is a gift, really.
The problem is that I can think of at least 10 other things I could be doing! I want to be writing, desperately. But knowing there's stuff I should be doing (like reloading my virus software, which seems to have disappeared) is making me unsettled.
Enough! I'm going now.