A friend congratulating me the other day on my book being sold, said that she wonders where I find the time to write as much as I do. There are times when I do too. Although, really, when you look at the fact that I’m retired, live alone, and, allowing for sleep and meals, have something around 95 hours a week in which I can write at need, it isn’t so surprising. Or it wouldn’t be if it wasn’t that other things intervene and soak up some of that 95 hours. One of them is my farm and the creatures thereon. As in today, which is fine but quite chilly.
So, start in on emails and – the geese are yelling, what’s set them off? Trot out to check and find that the two ganders, Stroppy and his male offspring, Sonny, have decided to start a fight. Speak sternly. Fight stops, and I go back to my emails. Thunder wanders in and wails at me. I stare at my cat. “What’s the matter?” We only have pidgin in common but I do get the message and put emails aside to go stoke the fire before my feline friend freezes – and back to the emails. Odd hammering on the bedroom wall. Hang on, I know what’s doing that. Look at the clock. Ah, yes, the hens would like it to be known that a meal is now slightly late and hammering with their (hungry) beaks on my bedroom wall, usually reminds me.Race out, feed the hens, the geese, collect 7 eggs, and head back inside.
Thunder wishes it to be known that if it’s good enough to feed all those feathered things, it’s good enough to feed the cat. Feed the cat. Finish emails and start on an item for my blog. Post that, and start on another. Thunder points out that the fire needs stoking again. Stoke the fire. Post that blog item and wonder what I’ll write about for ‘comments from farside’ this week…at which point Thunder notes that he can hear something. I stop typing and listen. Hmmm, so can I. Head out to check and find that an idiot lamb (Elly Mae’s black and white ram lamb) has got his head stuck in the fence. Unstick idiot lamb, watch briefly to see he’s ok, he is, and retire inside to think what I should write for “comments from Farside’ – and a topic dawns on me. I have just enough time to write and post this before I should start dinner, feed the cat, and finish reading the book I want to review. I’ll find time for those things as I do for everything else, but there are times when I feel that a 34 hour day would be an advantage – and I daresay, I’m not the only one to whom that idea has over occurred.
Finding the Time
26 October 2012
A friend congratulating me the other day on my book being sold, said that she wonders where I find the time to write as much as I do. There are times when I do too. Although, really, when you look at the fact that I’m retired, live alone, and, allowing for sleep and meals, have something around 95 hours a week in which I can write at need, it isn’t so surprising. Or it wouldn’t be if it wasn’t that other things intervene and soak up some of that 95 hours. One of them is my farm and the creatures thereon. As in today, which is fine but quite chilly.
So, start in on emails and – the geese are yelling, what’s set them off? Trot out to check and find that the two ganders, Stroppy and his male offspring, Sonny, have decided to start a fight. Speak sternly. Fight stops, and I go back to my emails. Thunder wanders in and wails at me. I stare at my cat. “What’s the matter?” We only have pidgin in common but I do get the message and put emails aside to go stoke the fire before my feline friend freezes – and back to the emails. Odd hammering on the bedroom wall. Hang on, I know what’s doing that. Look at the clock. Ah, yes, the hens would like it to be known that a meal is now slightly late and hammering with their (hungry) beaks on my bedroom wall, usually reminds me.Race out, feed the hens, the geese, collect 7 eggs, and head back inside.
Thunder wishes it to be known that if it’s good enough to feed all those feathered things, it’s good enough to feed the cat. Feed the cat. Finish emails and start on an item for my blog. Post that, and start on another. Thunder points out that the fire needs stoking again. Stoke the fire. Post that blog item and wonder what I’ll write about for ‘comments from farside’ this week…at which point Thunder notes that he can hear something. I stop typing and listen. Hmmm, so can I. Head out to check and find that an idiot lamb (Elly Mae’s black and white ram lamb) has got his head stuck in the fence. Unstick idiot lamb, watch briefly to see he’s ok, he is, and retire inside to think what I should write for “comments from Farside’ – and a topic dawns on me. I have just enough time to write and post this before I should start dinner, feed the cat, and finish reading the book I want to review. I’ll find time for those things as I do for everything else, but there are times when I feel that a 34 hour day would be an advantage – and I daresay, I’m not the only one to whom that idea has over occurred.