So, it’s been over a month since I returned home from my tenure in Telluride. (I spent seven full days there, specifically to reassess and sort out my life, and even more specifically, my writing life.) I noticed today that I’m back to doing pretty much what I was doing before I left. My writing hasn’t improved because I’m still doing the same old same old.
I’m still squeezing my writing in where I can find a space for it, rather than making it moreso the center of my universe. Often, I finally come to it only after getting home from work, or from having done my running around. It’s something I get to when I have the time. When I can fit it into my day, having gotten the important stuff done.
Folks who saw my Telluride pictures posted on Facebook, and who read my blogposts for that week, are right in thinking I had a good time. But, (and especially if they only saw the pictures), they’re missing how my time there was more centered around my writing than my having fun.
Here’s one example. I missed the Blood Moon, because I was inside my hotel room, writing. I knew it was happening, wanted to see it, had even woke in time to do so, but I never even stepped outside to have a gander. Rather, I stayed with my writing.
But, meanwhile now, back here on the ranch, I’ve not been putting off doing wanted things, in order to stay at the desk writing.
Those of you who have followed this blog for awhile know one of the things that troubles me is the lateness of my age in getting started with writing, compared with that of my contemporaries. Yesterday, when I mentioned to a local I’d not seen in a year or so that I was weary of my hospital job, and was wishing I could find something other and better, she encouraged me with, “You’re still young.” Now, she may not realized my actual age, but what she said does hold a good bit of truth. I do still have time. I am not out of contention. Not yet. Not by a long shot.