A Writer’s Life

Some of you, I’m sure, wonder why I’m not more prolific, like those other SF writers.

A description of my day might give you a good idea.

I rose this morning, fed the cats, ate a banana, and went out into the breezeway to do martial arts. I did about a quarter-hour of kata before repeated telephone calls and other distractions wrecked my concentration, so I gave up. I showered and had lunch. I went to the office supply place, but they didn’t have everything I needed, so I had to go someplace else. I bought groceries, filled the gas tank at one place, then went to the tire store, where I read a book while my tired were rotated.

It was Columbus Day, so I didn’t have to spend any time reading mail.

By this time it was 4pm. I read and answered email, did a modest amount of web browsing, then ran on the elliptical machine for an hour. I did my stretches, relaxed for a bit in the hot tub, then made and ate my dinner.

I must admit that I spent the next couple hours playing Europa Universalis Rome— actually it should be called Roma if they’re going to title the whole thing in Latin, shouldn’t it? At any rate, I take full responsibility for those hours, as our politicians would say.

I wouldn’t have played so long if Ptolemy hadn’t put a contract out on my general, forcing me to invade him and teach him a lesson.

It is now 11pm, and I’m now ready to start writing— after I prepare a package for Federal Express to pick up tomorrow morning, and call FedEx to get schedule the pickup. All the other things I was going to do today, like deal with the insurance company and the Social Security Administration re: my mom and a few other things, are going to be postponed till tomorrow.

I really need a secretary/dogsbody to handle most of this for me, but I can’t afford one. I’ve shoved off as much work as I can on Kathy, who is surprisingly cool with it.

How do people who work eight hours per day manage?

Okay. To work now.