Time management. ::sigh:: Those two industrial gray words turn life from a free-flowing art form into a commercial enterprise, hours scrutinized under cost-benefit analysis, minutes tallied in the ledger. I can deal, however reluctantly, with allocating time toward work, housewifery, and relationships, but my real problem is in subjecting creativity to a schedule. See, my muse rarely shows up on time. Her whimsy abides by no rules and responds to neither threats nor incentives. There is simply no reasoning with hormonal fairies.
And yet I try. I carve time out of the rocks and burrow inside with a stash of blank pages and coffee, hoping that my dedication to the cause will coax her better nature into action. Sometimes it works, but lately it hasn’t… and when my accountants find me a few hours later with only thirty new words and twice as many deleted, they react like infected monkeys. They shriek and rage and wave the deficit column in my face, and I can’t really defend myself. Who spends precious hours staring down a half-written document while other projects pile up?
I do apparently. Now that I have a job, time management is a necessary part of my modus operandi, and I’m doing my best to find a free-flowing art form within its confines. Something in me insists that this isn’t a futile search. We humans were designed both to work and to live, and there has to be a balance somewhere in this tangle of time constraints. Unfortunately, my accountants have hidden the balance sheet until further notice; I’ll likely find it next month shuffled in among the unpaid bills and Orlagh’s latest bar tab.
So do tell, those of you who find time for what you love to do among all the things you have to do: How?? Do you have any methods or tricks for keeping all your plates spinning? Do you feel guilty when art grinds efficiency to a halt? Do you ever have to let other parts of your life go? And most importantly, does your muse come to work on a schedule? Because if so, we’re trading.