This isn’t the first time my writing has interfered with my relationships. I’ll spend a good deal of time doing research, writing a few pages a month, and then the bucket will tip over and for a couple of months, I’ll do nothing but write, and think about writing, and talk about either writing in general or my latest book in particular.
I write on the bus, at work, at lunch, at home before and after making dinner. I think about my book, about the next scene, bits of dialogue, at the gym, just before bed, while doing reporting at work. I keep a notebook next to me so I can get dialogue down, little scenes, before I forget them.
I want to finish this book by Dec 31st, which works out to writing about 7 pages a day. I want to finish this book. I’ve been working on it, writing, researching, for year. I already have my next project in mind. I’m a writer, and this is what I do.
What the people close to me soon learn is that when I get like this, there isn’t room for much else for awhile. I get easily distracted. I’m always somewhere else. I’m only really happy when I’m writing. It’s another reason I spent six years avoiding the idea of having a lover. My writing became an issue in my last relationship. He said I never had enough time for him. I was ignoring him. For nearly six months, I stopped writing all together, and nearly killed myself.
So this time around I want to find the right balance. I want to be able to give myself over to this passion, to this thing that consumes my life, but I don’t want to neglect the relationships in my life with friends and lovers, and that’s hard, that’s really fucking hard.