It is a Monday as I write this, and Mondays are Art Days for me lately. I sometimes think I should cancel because the class is long, 2-1/2 hours, all afternoon, and I could be doing something useful in that time, like exercising or writing more pages, or cleaning my house, which has been a less than perfect place lately.
The truth is, I’m really busy with writing work. I have more Lark books coming, and a Barbara O’Neal book in progress (which is taking so much longer than the usual for a book of this sort!) and a surprise project fell in my lap over the summer that I could not possibly turn down. My word count for the next six months intimidates even me, with all my schedules and process checks and charts.
When I leave, I am more rested than if I’d slept the whole day. This, too, is a meditation, a place to let the girls in the basement regroup and talk among themselves without my buzzing, frustrated noises.
Busy. You might know something about this. Maybe you have a day job or a toddler (if you have an infant, enjoy this time and realize it is fleeting and beautiful) or family problems or like me, ten billion words to write in the next six months and you have no idea how you’ll get it all done. Technically, looking at the charts, the days needed, the hours I must spend working, this Monday Art Day thing is just a bizarre luxury. [Read more…]