I think it was on Tuesday that I wrote for 17 hours.
Yesterday, I wrote for three hours.
Today, I have already written for 10 hours.
I could quite honestly do this all the time and be happy as a clam as long as I am writing about something enjoyable.
People who aren’t writers just can’t understand how much we enjoy doing this. We can be happy as pigs in shit doing nothing but writing away almost every waking minute. No worries at all. It’s as if the world outside doesn’t even exist, which, come to think of it, would probably be a good thing. It’s a great way to make the whole lousy world just completely vanish for a while. I can’t think of a more productive and intellectual form of pure escapism.
Plus I feel productive. Even if I do not have any paid work going on, I feel like a waste lying around all day doing nothing. I even feel guilty watching videos or reading a novel. There is a part of me that always wants to be productive, even if I don’t have a regular job at all. Even if I am doing work that is making me no money at all, it beats feeling like a bum. I don’t like feeling like an unproductive person. It’s not even about a job or money. It’s about a productive use of your time. I feel like even if you are unemployed or disabled, you ought to try to do something productive all day. Maybe it’s just me and my lousy White Protestant work ethic.