Before CEWG was born and during the time I stayed home with her, I wrote. A lot. Short stories, novellas, full novels, tiny memoirs. In ABQ, I had a fantastic group of writer friends and each week, we came together to read each other's stories, share ideas and laugh about bad plot points.
But after moving to the Valley of the Sun, leaving my writing group, rejoining the workforce and juggling mothering and working meant all that writing went by the wayside.
Except it shouldn't have.
I have no other creative outlet. In fact, I would argue that I'm not a creative person at all. I can't paint, draw, sketch, play an instrument, read music, or sew. I blame my private school upbringing where there was no art class or opportunity to stretch oneself creatively. However, I can write. But even in my writing, I find that I'm not particularly creative. I've reconciled myself to the idea that I lack an artist's soul.
Even so, it's nice sometimes to sit down and have actually done something with my time. Not just worked to produce education, knowledge or behavior change as in my day-to-day work, but actually have a product, something I can hold, wave about as proof of my existence. See world, here I am, I am real.
I have no excuse for not sitting myself down at least once a week and just doing it. The Doctor's nighttime work schedule means I have ample evening time to write after CEWG is in bed. It's just a matter of choosing to put words on paper. So one night a week, I am going to start choosing to write instead of reading celebrity gossip websites, lingering on Facebook and doing work.