Here's the thing about being a writer. You're expected to write. But it's amazing the number of excuses I--and any other writer--can come up with on why we can't possibly do any writing at this very minute. Deadlines, a messy house, kids, cats, Oprah's on... whatever.
I belong to a writer's group called WACCO (pronounced "wacko"). It stands for something I've long since forgotten. But we've started a Tuesday writing night. We meet at various locations at 7 p.m. We chat until 7:15 and then enforce absolute silence from 7:15 - 9 for writing time. We met for the first time last night and I whipped out 10 handwritten pages of writing. I outlined a new idea for a middle grade novel, did a bit of journaling, then delved into some childhood memories that, if I'm so inclined, may make for a good article. I feel fantastic. It was such a pleasure to just write for no purpose--not for an assignment, not for publication... just for me.
For some reason, it's easier for me to write around other people who are writing, even if no one is talking. When I'd hit a slow spot, I'd look up and see everyone else still scribbling or typing away. At home, I might be inclined to stop for the night, but I knew I had to fill the time until 9 so I kept writing. It was absolutely marvelous.
I'm in the process of some career changes which I'll share at a later date. But last night was a great reintroduction to the joy of writing.