Progress

Whenever I’ve thought about myself as a writer, I always thought that I’d be the type of person that would have every thing so spectacularly buttoned-up. My desk would be perfect, my workspace would be functional, and my manuscript would be Hollywood-esque.

What I've learned in the last couple of years, and this last month especially, is that the life of a writer, who is also a full-time employee, who is also a husband and who is also a father, is much more complicated.

You have to write in the evenings. You have to write across the weekends. During these Covid-crazy times you have to write in a mask. Really, you have to write any chance you get.

And so that means that my desk isn't perfect, rather I'm often using the table at a coffee shop or I'm at the library in the corner somewhere. My workspace isn't functional, because it's almost always not my own. And as you can see by this picture my manuscript is anything but Hollywood-esque.

What I've learned to appreciate though, is that I love this life. And I'm truly not sure I’d have it any other way. Expect for maybe a room to write in high above the ocean. Maybe one day.