Make time now or make time later; you still have to do it.
No one has enough time. No one. About two years ago, when 2010 was born and I realized my free time was virtually nil, I took stock of my life and the many requirements of being an adult.
I started consistently making time for writing, because that’s what I wanted to do. Most of my time belongs to family, but I still make time for writing every day.
My house is perpetually cluttered (clean, yes, but cluttered with toys and kidstuff) because I choose to write during nap time instead of tidying the toys.
My back yard resembles a jungle. If I can be outside, I’m playing with my children or teaching them to garden.
I go to the salon when Brandi-not-her-real-name can fit me in at the last minute.
So, I make time for the important things, and figure everything else will fall in line, or it won’t. I’m not sure how this happened. In my 20s, I thought I was a superwoman with infinite energy and impeccable time management who could conquer the world in a weekend. Now, I am a mother, and I am a writer. I can’t make any more time to wear a cape.
I blog rarely, because I'm writing books. When I do blog, I focus on writing, friendship, family, and books. Because my family's best nicknames are private, I use their birth years for shorthand: