Thanks to the helpful insight of Andrew Lynch, I made some changes to the site and explored some options and approaches for the future. Which is great and all, but it’s not the most important thing. Because while I was doing that, I was neglecting what I was supposed to be doing.
I write in the mornings, usually for two to three hours, because that’s the time of day when I’m at my best. When I’m unburdened by small, petty concerns, when I’m most full of creative energy.
My routine: put my headphones on, start up a playlist (today, the soundtrack to the Harry Potter films), open up Scrivener, go full screen, and write.
I did all that, except rather than writing, I fucked around with stuff that, while it still matters, could’ve been done later.
Often, I’m hard on myself. No one else cares about me being my best self more than I do, which means I have to be my own sternest teacher. That’s the way it should be. But sometimes, I overdo it.
I sacrifice free, undirected time, for targeted and specifically allocated time. I exercise sometimes, not because I enjoy it in and of itself, but because I know it will help me be more creative and more effective.
Everything has to have a purpose. I can’t do something just for the sake of doing it. I realise how dangerous that is, and I’m working on it.
But still, the time for play and exploration and toying with things of minor importance is not during my peak hours. The mornings are when I write best. I know this about myself. And writing is the most important thing I have to do each day. So I cannot allow anything to interfere with it.
Yet this morning, I did. Why? What’s behind this behaviour that pulls me away from what I know I should do, from what I know I need to do?
If you’re holding out for an answer, I’m sorry, I don’t have one. Not yet. I have some ideas, but not an answer. Answers take time. A lot of it. I’ll figure it out soon. I hope.