"Artists don’t get down to work until the pain of working is exceeded by the pain of not working."
I saw this quote today and was impressed by how easily and succinctly Mr. DeStaebler summed up the gist of so many of my blogs. This is how I feel about writing.
I love it, I want to do it full time, but there are days and weekends and vacation days when writing is the last thing I think I want to do. And then a little time goes by when I don't write, and I become miserable—and miserable to be around. Then I write, and remember how wonderful it is to have this creative outlet at my fingertips and what a gift it is and how lucky I am to have found my passion.
Interestingly, I've found that writing is like so many addictions: the more I write, the more I want to write. The more I write, the less time it takes for that pain of not working to build back up. It's like I build up a tolerance and need more to get my fix. Just Tuesday, I got upset with Cody because he'd thrown off my routine minutely, and suddenly my usual hour and a half of writing time was cut down to an hour. Last night, I had a hard time falling to sleep knowing that today's writing time was going to be similarly truncated.
Of course, since this writing addiction is something I love and that loves me in return (leaves me more energized, happier, at peace with myself and the world, as opposed to sugar, which causes tooth decay and weight gain but has the same withdrawal symptoms of irritability and neediness), I'm embracing my addiction and have every intention of continuing to bow to its demands until I run out of stories to write.