Writing is weird. It’s (for me) a hobby that I love doing — when I am writing and it’s going well, or even semi-well, I feel happy and accomplished, and I’m always thrilled to share my work with other people. It’s just like any other art — painting, crafting, singing, content creation, etc.

So why am I so reluctant to actually sit down and do it?

I was talking to one of my partners recently and she said she’s never bored because she always has something to do, hobby-wise. And there are days I wish I had more hobbies. But I’m a good writer — at least, that’s what people tell me; your mileage may vary — and I know I am capable of doing it more. I just… don’t.

Let’s take Oasis Labor Day Weekend, for example. I spent a lot of time being awake early in the morning with “nothing” to do, and I didn’t do any work on any of my fiction. I didn’t write; I didn’t edit; I didn’t outline; I didn’t typeset. I just watched TV and haunted the party chat until people started waking up. The same goes for the periods during the day when I had nothing to do — especially Thursday, because I arrived Wednesday afternoon and the party didn’t begin until Thursday evening.

I had a lot of time when I could have been writing, but I just didn’t do it.

Why not? Your guess is as good as mine.

Writing is the hardest work in the world not involving heavy lifting.

Pete Hamill

Seriously, though.

And it wasn’t even writer’s block! I had plenty of things to work on!

I’m at Lone Star right now (come find me and ask for some spanking, if you like), and while I am here with a partner, I’m sure I’ll still have down time when I could be doing something writerly. I wonder if I actually will.

I probably won’t. And I don’t even know why.