I recently left my day job in order to concentrate on writing. I knew it would be an adjustment, and it was; the first three days, I felt guilty, like I was playing hooky. After that, my mind was willing, but the time was … fleeting.
It didn't take the rest of my family long to get used to me being home. By the third day, I was already tired of hearing things like, "Mom, can you give me a ride to—", "Honey, why don't you call a repairman for this ___?", and "Can we have something decent for supper?" That last one means, "Something you don't slap together in 20 minutes." There's also all those chores I never had time for when I was working a 'real' job, and now I supposedly do have time for them – mending, scrubbing and the like.
For years, I read the advice of other writers who said, "Choose your time when you're going to write, and don't let anything intrude." I did that, as best as I could. Evenings were split between loading the dishwasher and all my writing chores. Weekends I wrote while the washer and dryer chugged along. Now that I was 'unemployed', there should be plenty of time, right?
I don't know where I ever had the time for an outside job, but even without it, I still have to set aside time for writing … and not allow other things to intrude.
I guess some things never change. See ya next week. Trudy