Busman’s Holiday.

I’m going to be honest. I’ve been slacking. First off, it’s insanely hot. I haven’t been cooking, cleaning, or existing above ground for the last few weeks. My husband reminded me that people have been built to live without air conditioning and have done so for hundreds of years. My reply: “I come from largely inbred European stock. We’re not built to deal with anything.”

Not only that but my writing really dropped off a cliff after I finished at the newspaper. I think part of the problem is the newspaper turned my writing from fun into work. A ton of work. Any non-newspaper writing was a busman’s holiday. If you’re not familiar, it’s an old phrase that basically means when you’re doing something similar to your vocation for fun. Being at work on your day off. Like if a ferris wheel operator went to an amusement park. Like if a bus driver took a vacation trip on a bus. Like if a lady cranking out articles for her college newspaper went back to working on her yet to be started novel. (GOOD JOB, LAUREN.)

I mean, I know writing is work, but at the paper it was kind of a slog. I did get to write a lot of things I enjoyed, truth. My editors supported me and I was fortunate to work with a talented staff. The joy just drained away at some point.

I suppose writing is always a busman’s holiday. You’re balancing the work part of writing with the fun part. But I needed to re-establish balance. I was burned out.

I thought back to something a friend asked me a few years ago. Where did I create? Truth was I wrote everywhere. Mostly at my desk, next to my bills and my paperwork and my yawwwwn. Sometimes in the living room. The car. Dinners alone. My office at work. My other creative pursuits, like painting, had already stagnated.

I didn’t have a comfortable spot of my own. He said that was surprising and maybe I’d get more out of it if I could nest a little and make my own space.

It was good enough for the likes of Roald Dahl and Michael Pollan, so why not me?

We have a breezeway with big glass windows that enclose a room that sits between my house and garage. It is mine now. It has greenery and lights and an a/c unit (!) and a big drafting table and I love it.

The only thing it’s missing is a big cozy chair for me to be able to crash in, read, and take naps. I have the chair but the space is small… we’ll see. I also want to fill it with artwork from my friends. It seems that’s a staple of famous creative types, too. 

I need to respect this space and use it. I need to create again. I’ve decided all my blog posts from now on will be written here. I’m going to use the Bob Ross series on Netflix and paint again.

I’m not planning on the next great American novel. But I’m planning to tell stories again. I like telling you stories, reader.

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