Naivete

It's Wednesday night -- late Wednesday night -- and I'm stunned at how fast the week is flying by. I don't want to think about how much writing I haven't gotten done. I know I've tried every day to put something down, but I have no sense of having been successful. For those of you who just might happen upon this site and need some background information, my other life is as a real estate agent. There are always phone calls and appointments and lots and lots of running around. But it's not the phone calls and running around, I think, that's causing difficulty with the writing -- though they don't help. It's the different mindsets. As a real estate agent, I'm often listening to other people's thoughts. Their concerns, their worries. I'm also in a sociable mindset. Outgoing. When I'm writing, the only thoughts I listen to are my own. The only voices I hear are those of the characters inside my head. When I first started in real estate, a year ago this summer, I thought, I hoped the two fields would compliment one another. The sociability of the real estate world would balance out the solitariness of the writing one. Instead, I find a tension between them. It's interesting.

Well, that's all for tonight. I have to try to write a bit more on the sequel for Harlem Redux. About two thirds of the first draft has been done. I wanted to rewrite the opening chapters, then rework the body of the investigation. I'm writing this story for me. I'm not sure I'll attempt to have it published. I want to rediscover the joy of writing, and I'm thinking that keeping the story tucked away might be a good way to do that.

Or am I being naive?