Just write...just keep writing...

Life keeps us all busy. Houses get dirty. Gardens need weeding. The city writes a letter; the grass needs mowing. Bills need paying. Homework needs doing. Families really should be talked to at least once in awhile.

So how on earth do I find time for writing?

I reward myself with it.

Writing fiction is like eating ice cream for breakfast. A guilty pleasure, when I know I should be doing something else far more worthy.

When I do something good for me, I reward myself with some words. A few pages of a good book. A page of rough draft writing. A quick edit while everyone's watching TV.

Not only does it mean that I do more good things for myself (to get the reward), but writing itself...getting into that zone for even a short time...keeps me sane. I have to do it, daily, even a little bit.

But that doesn't work for me, you say? Writing is hard work, you say?

Then why do it?

Sure, if I have to write a report for school or my job, that's work. A guest blog for someone that I promised to do, that's work.

So I do it, and then I reward myself with a little story. An atom in a universe full of stories.

But writing fiction is hard, you say? It's not an enjoyable process?

Then why do it?

Why?

The only way to actually get better is to do it. No book about writing will make me better. No master's degree will make me better. No amount of talking about writing with other writers will make me better.

Only writing...and more writing...and more writing...and lots of reading, so I can fill the empty spaces so that more good stuff comes out.

So eat that ice cream for breakfast (metaphorically speaking, of course). Or maybe for real once in awhile. At least toss a waffle or two in there while you're at it.

But keep writing.