I didn’t write last week…

…Except, I did.

When I’m working on a novel or similarly lengthy project, I set myself a target. It used to be 1,000 words a night back when I had one job and a stable lifestyle. I didn’t always meet it, but I did get some writing done every day, no matter how little.

With my current lifestyle, where I work three jobs and don’t have my own space, I set myself a different target; to write four chapters a week. I rarely meet it but usually I can get three done a week without too much trouble.

This week, I didn’t write a single word.

Except, I did.

I write five days a week in my current job. So, in reality, I actually wrote a lot. Writing I have to do to get paid. I need that money to live and continue my travels later one.

But, when it comes to my own project, I wrote nothing.

Instead, I worked my second job on four of those days and nights, after my main job (which is a 9-5). Again, there are benefits to this, but I didn’t write anything.

And I feel guilty.

I’m close to finishing the first draft of this project, and my goal is to get it done this month. That should still be doable, I hope. Not writing for a week is just going to mean I have to do more in a shorter time.

This is what I want for my future, and I feel bad that I’ve been so lax. I can’t even say I did anything exciting or had a good time. Don’t get me wrong, the people I work with in my second job are great but it’s not the same. I have no stories to tell, no pictures to show and no writing to mark that passage of time.

I didn’t write last week.

I feel guilty every time I let an opportunity pass me by. Sometimes I am too busy, others I know I’m not in the right frame of mind to do so. I still feel guilty. I’m trying to change that, to accept the decisions I make in my life, for whatever reason, are the best they can be in that moment. Maybe things would be different if I took those chances, but maybe not. There’s no way to know for sure.

I’m getting better. This has become a bit of a mantra for me, one I wanted to share. It’s okay that, as a writer, there are times I don’t write. It’s okay there are others I do. It’s okay to enjoy other things or prioritise other parts of my life.

I’m not there yet, but I’m improving every day. Every week.

I did no writing last week, except, I did. Then again, I also didn’t.

And that’s okay.