I've spent most of today packing and cleaning. I am officially moving out, going off on my own, starting a new chapter of life...or any other cliche you can think of that emphasizes the fact that I am leaving the nest.Tomorrow is road trip day and I'm excited, even though I know that means I'll have to wake up extra early if I want to get my writing done before we leave.
I haven't written anything today besides this blog post. I keep thinking about how I should be writing, but I can't seem to make myself actually go do it. It seems like there's so many other things, more important things to be doing. If I'm being honest with myself, I can admit that most days there are a million other things (sometimes "more important" things) I could be doing instead of writing, that I probably should be doing instead of writing. The days where there's absolutely nothing that demands your attention but the story are few and far between.
Most days are about sacrificing something for your writing; an episode of True Blood for one chapter, exercise for a few hundred words, a day on the beach with your friends for one sentence of utter brilliance. Sometimes, even food gets pushed to the back-burner.
So, if I'm being honest with myself, I can admit that today is no different than yesterday or the day before. The only thing keeping me from writing is me. Tonight, I think I can sacrifice that hour I was going to spend watching Suits for a few hundred words.