I attended a workshop the other evening, in which we were guided to contact and listen to our Divine Masculine. Never mind why I was interested in this workshop. That could become a long explanation. Point is I was there and so was a friend of mine and he asked, “How’s the writing going?”
It seems more of my friends know I’m “writing a book.”
I said it was on hold; but then I added that it’s only for short spurts that I think I don’t have time for that nonsense. I’ll come around soon enough, I said, and get back at it. Thanks for asking.
The actual conversation probably didn’t drip with as much suppressed frustration as it appears to have here. But I am frustrated, because I don’t have time for that nonsense. The real world keeps getting more real and anyway I need a job. Yet I must have time for that nonsense because I think about it in some way or other every day, sometimes twice.
We can make time for what’s important to us.
The world needs my book.
My people need their stories told.
The second week of the class went by without me having any “time” to do the work. Now the third week is under way and I’m just not setting enough aside. Yes, I could want to if I wanted to. But it’s Halloween Weekend. There are important things to do.
Oh shit. And then Nano starts on Tuesday.