Paying the price.

I pretty much spent the whole summer indoors.

At first it was because of the heat.  Then it was because I was writing.  Then both.

But as the summer comes to a close, the inside-my-head tapes of "Get out there and do something!" get louder and louder.

Back in my old writing career, it seemed like writing would stop at summer and the holidays.  This time, I am writing right through all obstacles.

Here's the thing.  Ever since I got in this writing groove, which started almost exactly one year ago, I've been afraid to let it go.  Who am I to turn down this munificence?

I'm not saying it's all great, but it feels like it's pretty good.

I decided to pay the price, as long as the creativity kept coming.  I mean, it is an unusual thing, to say the least.  And it's still coming.

Paying the price --  I'm hardly reading, I think I gaining weight, I don't watch much TV. I barely touched the garden, the dust level on my desk has turned into dust bunnies.

I'm not getting any younger, and I'm feeling the urge very strongly, so I'm just going to keep doing it no matter the price.