Anymore I feel like I need to do something daringly death-defying to take the time to put pen to paper and flesh out the newest storyline permeating my forethoughts from the recesses in which it has been sequestered. I’d like to say I squandered my summer, but that’s far from true. Not very far, but far enough to be a half-truth.
Teaching is an odd job these days. Contrary to public opinion, we don’t have near as much time off as your children. There’s always work to be done. Planning, paperwork, preparing … not to mention the mandatory meetings. So it is that I no sooner found myself enjoying summer, than I found myself back at work this year. I’d like to write more often. I’d like to update this blog with fresh thoughts with some semblance of frequency; however, I just can’t seem to extricate myself from the demands of the everyday.
How keen it must have been to be Harry Houdini. I’m not even close to being a lovely assistant. To wrest myself from responsibility for an hour to write once a week has of late proven more impossible than freeing myself from an elaborate entrapment. How to manage the everyday and still eke out a moment to create a new world?
So I ask this to anyone still reading: We all know one must take the time to do what we desire, but take it from where?