ime is always a sour subject with me.
I’ve never had enough of it. Even without kids, even with a quiet, low-maintenance wife, there isn’t. I haven’t written seriously (my old Tuesday/Thursday lockdown) for years now. And there are the dusty model trains, the abandoned telescope, the unwatched movies. But still, in all this, I’m active, frantically so.
My recent efforts have been writing StoreyMinus, an interactive game that is nearing something like completion. And then there are two nights each week at the train club. Oh, and my buddy who is in a distant hospital, necessitating a long 2-3 nights/week drive. So yes, all my time drains away and I’m left with nothing.
Especially not time to focus on writing.
However, one good thing – I’ve been thinking of retirement (early retyrement, nyuk nyuk). I was thinking of putting in for it in November and backed out. Now, suddenly, the company is trying to reduce its grayhairs and I’m eligible for a handsome buyout. I plan to take it. Not sure what this sudden deluge of time will actually be like. It could be like those hardscrabble desert communities that suddenly are inundated with rain and become swampy morasses. And the retirees in my club tell me they never have time now, now that they’ve jumped ship.
So I’m looking at having to restructure myself for the next part of my life. Wondering if maybe I’ll assign writing days and review my older works (specifically Indigo and Wenamon) for submission to a new generation of literary agents. I’ve got to do something. In a matter of months, I’m going to have buckets of time.