Just back from a morning cycle, that somehow took up most of the day. It’s relatively simple to ride from our house in Wilson Creek to Gibsons…well, wait a second, relatively being a rather relative word.
There is that one rather large grinding hill up into Roberts Creek and the rest of it is a bit of a slog too. Really? There’s nothing simple about it, except the fact, that you simply keep pedalling about 18 or 20 kms there and then turn around and come back. That I’m sure is relatively simple.
What is not so simple for me is trying to incorporate the time I spend writing versus not. It’s a ‘damned if I do, damned if I don’t’ enterprise. But can’t one just call it all summer holidays and just not bother?
Apparently not.
According to just about every writer out there, I am required to write, beholden to myself to write, impelled to write and simply must write, whether it’s summer or not.
And I always feel great once I get at it, but now we’re heading out for a little sailing and a dinner with friends, so clearly this blog is the only writing I’m going to get done today. And as much fun as it is to just hit the ol’ Publish button and say I’ve done something, I’m sorry, but it doesn’t quite cut it.
Tomorrow. I will work on my writing tomorrow.
F*** writing this summer. It’s too nice.
S.
Mr. Sell, do I whiff a little bitterness? Or is it a happy thought?