Time makes fools

‘Time makes fools of us all…’; photograph by Thordi

Time makes fools of us all. And time is very much on my mind at the moment, as mine has suddenly become a premium commodity.

Yes, I have just started a new phase in my life of paid employment. Or, to put it another way, I’ve got a new job. This is for reasons which are sound and very much justified and, indeed, employment will hopefully be pleasurable. I’ll be working with books and with readers, and that can never be a bad combination.

But it means I’ll have less time for writing, for editing, and for managing life beyond the paying of the bills. This causes me a certain amount of anxiety. I have commitments, the ones to myself not the least amongst them. I want to write and to edit and spend time on Twitter; I want to communicate, in one medium or another and my new life status threatens that.

So what will I do? Well, I’ll take around a fortnight to stress and then I’ll settle and work out new working arrangements. Because that’s what we do when life changes; for a while the shift seems all-consuming and we don’t quite know where the time is going. Then we settle down and what’s important to us will reassert itself.

So at the moment I am all of a quiver: I have a new editorial job upcoming and I fear for when it’ll get done. I have a short story to tinker with and a whole damn novel to edit. When will I find the time for these things?

The answer will come. Things will settle and new working patterns will develop – hell, with a different type of stimulation I’ll almost certainly write better for it. I will work out all the answers because I have to.

But for now I am all of an anxiety; and it’s not just the new job fears.

A balancing act

balancingact

I can’t find an attribution for this picture, culled randomly from the internet. I suspect Photoshop may be involved somewhere

There is a problem. The problem’s name is work. And me having some.

All I want to do is to write. It doesn’t have to be fresh creation – I even enjoy a spot of editing every now and again. But writing don’t pay the bills, so I have Paid Employment. And now, in a vague attempt to find something more sustainable in a barren future time, I’ve got myself a second job. I have my first piece of professional proofreading.

This is a good thing. I’m shortly going to be taking parental leave and will be bringing in less money. I need to keep the Lyrapillar in nappies (whores will, after all, have their trinkets). I chose proofreading as a revenue stream as it’s probably the only thing I’m qualified to do, and that’s using the word ‘qualified’ somewhat loosely. It’s something I can do from home and can fit around the rest of my life.

The rest of my life aside from real writing, that is. That’s my problem. I’m trying to devise a new novel, but my mind is full of another person’s work. I have set myself the impossible deadline of doing this proofreading in a month – because I never learn – and that leaves no time for self-promotion, for sending out submissions and all the other things that I should be doing in order to develop my career, let alone actually creating new worlds and words.

This is a self-created problem. I don’t expect sympathy. I say this because it’s something all aspiring authors will encounter through the nebulous days of their writing careers. The trick of balancing all aspects of their lives. To be successful you have to write, and write many pieces, be they short stories, poems, or novels. I have given myself a task that I have to complete and that’s to the exclusion of artistry.

Ultimately it will be good for me. Of course it will be good for me. It’ll hopefully help me as a writer as well as bringing me in a little cash. But I chafe: I want to create.

And now I must away. I have proofs to read.