When I get any free time, a precious commodity, do I write? No.
I do housework — laundry, dishes, etc — play with Jordan and Azrael, and spend quality time with Chris.
But I do not write.
Why is this?
Let’s see, what are my current excuses… Ah, here’s one!
1) I am very busy.
And I am. I work 32 hours a week, and when I get home, Az and Jordan have needs to be met, such as dinner, bedtime, and playing and talking. The house needs to be kept in order — dishes need to be washed, laundry needs to be done, various things need to be swept and wiped and put where they go — and when all that is done, I’m fairly tired, and I just want to relax. I don’t want to think.
2) Somewhere, writing has turned into work.
Granted, this feeling can very likely be attributed to the fact that I am presently going through one of my periodic battles with depression. Depression colors everything, and nothing seems fun, or good, or worthwhile. At this moment, my depression is a chicken-and-egg question: Did this bout start before my external stresses (finances in poor shape, afraid of being laid off, etc.) kicked in, or after?
Either way, I haven’t wanted to write for a while. I’ve done a little bit on Hunger, but not much, and frankly, Adrian is not that good of company when I’m already feeling down. (It’s not Adrian’s fault. He’s going through an incredibly bad patch in his life, and he hasn’t gotten through to, or even glimpsed, the other side of it yet.)
Writing, especially the kind/s of writing I want to do, should be a labor of love. Especially Getting Hammered! The story of my walk with God, the joy He brings to my life, my observations and struggles, written to reach out to others! GH should reach for me, call to me, invite me to write it; I should long for it; I should be waiting for when I can pick up pen (or touch keys) again.
But I don’t. Not lately, anyway.
This morning in church, the sermon was about rendering to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and to God what is God’s. My thoughts these last several weeks have centered around the first part, and how exactly we were going to do it. I haven’t thought about the second part.
Getting Hammered is God’s. It is a labor of love; it’s my literary baby. Hunger, Red Sand and apocalypse are also important to me, but GH is special. It was inspired by an elf, amongst other things, so the strange pedigree alone makes it at least a little special.
I need to make time, and care. For those of you who think I’m dismissing depression as something that can be just brushed aside with positive thoughts, you’re mistaken. I’m not; I know that often that not only doesn’t work, but it can make the sufferer feel worse (like this: Depressed person tries to think positive. Depression prevents the sufferer from believing the thought, so the person winds up thinking “Yeah, right,” in response, which deepens the depression.). The external stresses are not going to just go away with positive thinking. We still need to get ahead on our finances; I still need a permanent job.
But while I’m working on those, I can at least try to think better, and to pray.
And to write.