I decided to write a short story a week, starting last Monday on my birthday. The plan is to write one page a day, with up to two pages every Sunday as needed to wrap the story up. I finished last week's story just before midnight. I'm really happy with it. It'll go live on my Patreon next weekend. The point is, I finished up late, after I got home from dancing, and that gave me a huge boost of creative energy. I tried to wind down by reading a Harlan Ellison story before crashing out, but the energy stayed. Maybe I should have gotten up and created more, but I'm trying to have a slightly more normal-ish sleep schedule. Not that my sleep was anything close to normal last night.

Which brings us to this morning. The new website needs posts. I decided I'd do a "Monday Musings" to open up the week. (Monday is the first day of the week in the Gallowglas Army. When I was in preschool, I thought Sunday was the last day of the week. Why else would Saturday and Sunday be called the weekend? It's the end of the week! Right?!?! I vividly recall breaking down in tears in circle time because a teacher was trying to gaslight me that Sunday was the first day of the week. That may well have been the very first Gallowrant.) Tuesdays will be 10 for Tuesday. Wednesdays will be a kinda weekly wrap-up. I'm forcing myself NOT to come up with other things to write on other days. (Though I do have a thing I'm going to be doing on Thursdays, but that's on another site.) I don't need more time taken away from my daily writing for things that I hope will eventually make me money, which brings us back to this morning and my fried, sleep-deprived brain trying to come up with something to write about so I can get on with the business of being a writer.

But then again, this is the business of being a writer. And it kinda sucks.

Recently, I told someone, "I hate being a writer."

They blinked at me in that stunned, uncomprehending expression people get when something collides with the paradigm their brain has created. And I get it. How could Gallowglas, who has published over 30 books and gone and gotten 3 degrees and continues studying and writing, utter the words, "I hate being a writer."

I let the person off that paradigm shift hook fairly quickly with a follow-up. "I love writing. I wish I could just focus on the writing. I wish I made enough and had a wide enough reach that I could fully support a comfortable life by making cool shit up."

Siiiiiigh... Alas... I have not yet arrived in that place.

Soooo.... I gotta juggle my websites, social media, email list, public appearances, and all the hustle, hustle, hustle of a struggling creative in a late-stage free market capitalism hellscape. Being a writer requires my attention in so many other areas that keep me from working on that poem, story, and/or novel chapter that's bouncing around in my head waiting to get out. You know, the stories I tell with the HOPE that someday someone might give me money for it.

Oh, and speaking of getting money for my writing, I also get to catch all the flak from people who think I should turn down my self-promotion  -- sometimes from other creators. People tell me I should teach, write, and perform just for the love of it, and relax on the whole money part of it. Anyway... you get the idea. (To my fellow creatives who think I should be quieter about people financially supporting my work... Maybe you should stiffen your spine, draw in a deeper breath, and be louder about people supporting your creations. Seriously,  be your own biggest fan.)

So, today's musing is about the difference between doing the writing and being a writer and the simple realization....

I love writing...

Sometimes I do not want to be a writer.

BUT... Bills ain't gonna pay themselves.

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