We are not robots. We are humans trying to make a living while doing stuff that makes us feel like we belong. We are also creative beings who need to be alone sometimes.

I started doing writing/editing because it was the only outlet I had for creativity after my asthma drove me away from chemical infused photography. I wanted to switch to painting or drawing but I’m rubbish at both.

Words however…now that’s a paintbrush of another kind.

So why don’t I have more to show for my ten years of work?

Answer: because deciding to write is a revelation, being a writer is a process, finishing things for others to consume…ugh…so intimate.

Fortunately for me I am aware of the painful process of what happens once the art leaves your hands and goes up for display, but that’s a post for next week I think.

The thing I wasn’t aware of was how much time management goes into writing. How it steals from the rest of your life and how hard it would be to insist that the writing come before everything else.

My revelation, once I embraced the scariness of having very little money while building up my output, is that this is a very lonely process and it’s too easy to become a hermit.

Thank goodness for social media.

And curse you social media for giving me the daily opportunity to fall down the rabbit hole of belonging.

Back to the point.

There is no one method for managing your time just like there’s no one method for writing… or managing your health… or making a living…or anything else that requires time and choice.

Just know that your not alone even though it feels like you are.

Oh, and by the way, If you want to know what has been successful for me it’s learning to adapt to creating my own deadlines.

I break the year down into quarters, then break that down into months, and then weeks.

I have three calendars; one for the overall yearly plan, one to mark my progress, and one to list my weekly goals so I can see what’s next instead of losing myself in the rabbit hole.

I also have the immense privilege, one that I have worked toward and stolen, of being able to put myself first.

I think that too is a post for another day.