Recently I have been too busy to write.

Actually, I am always too busy to write, so I have to force myself to do it. When I am feeling in control, and relatively energetic, I keep to some kind of a writing schedule. I write, ‘some kind’, because I never have kept to a rigid schedule of anything that does not strictly have to get done. But you see, writing does have to get done, because it’s part of my job. However, there are so many other facets of my job, that it’s easy to do the others and let the writing bit languish. Not many people notice. Except for me, that is. I notice.

I have been thinking about this a lot lately. Because, you see, I had given myself a small, informal commitment to write about eight posts of this blog each month. Eight posts does not seem very much. Only two a week. But time flies, and there is a lot to do, and I have a tendency for procrastination. Which means that just about every month (except for the few times I have been super-humanly disciplined), I end up with about a week to go and eight posts still to write. That’s about 1.12 posts each day. I haven’t done too badly, cramming them in, but I suspect the writing could have been better if I hadn’t. A look at when the posts were uploaded shows the early part of the month with no activity, and the latter showing evidence of the kind of zeal I’d like to exhibit every day of my life.

This month I am in exactly the same situation once again. it’s the 22nd, and this is my first post for the month. I have been thinking about this so much, that I recently committed myself to writing a paper about it!

And then today, my friend wrote me a guilt-laden email telling me she hasn’t been writing lately. Because – get this – she’s been too busy doing stuff that has made her really happy. What’s to complain about that, I said. In fact, here’s what I wrote back:

Don’t be freaked out. Enjoying life and being happy is the most important thing. Otherwise what is anything else for? Glad to hear you are happy. As for the writing… I think there are definite ebbs and flows. And I’m not sure whether there are really people to whom it comes naturally, and from whom it flows easily, all the time, every day. I struggle… Yet a daily routine is a good thing. 500 words? I tell myself that’s what I’d like to keep to, but I struggle with that. At the end of some days, there is nothing left. The tap is dry, and all I want is a glass of wine and to sit mindlessly on the couch. Sound familiar?

Her email, and my response above is what has dragged me back to the page (the keyboard, the screen, whatever!) today. And every time I return, I ask myself what took me so long? What kept me away? Why don’t I do this more often? Because entering the writing space for me is like making quality time to see someone I love. It might be difficult to organise, and time might slip away, but when I manage to do it, and we’re together, it’s beautiful. Well, for the most part it is, except for the times when it’s not, and then I think, Maybe it’s not such a bad thing we don’t live in each other’s pockets! And so it is with writing. It’s not always great. It’s not always easy. It doesn’t always flow. When it’s not flowing, it makes you feel shit about yourself. And all the time, you have these images of other writers in your head, those who supposedly turn up to the page every day, those who write consistently well. Those for whom the muse reliably turns up and for whom the writing flows sensuous and unimpeded.

That’s not me. I’m not one of those writers. But I guess I will keep chipping away at it. Because every now and then, when all the planets align, it is beautiful.