plugging the dam

In my absence, my business partner Marc, with the help of our Project Manager Gabby, handled al of the work of my agency. And now it's my turn, given the fact that Marc's wife can give birth at any time.

It is overwhelming to look at his project turnover document, in addition to all my own projects plus the new ones that are coming in. I'm trying to keep a cool head but find myself almost crippled by a fantastic sense of longing - to return to Dumaguete and just write.

This is the line I walk, and have been walking for years. Without the business, I have no income, without income, I cannot pay bills and support my family (there's the matter of Sage's huge incoming tuition fee, for example), and if my family is unhappy and not looked after, I cannot imagine myself selfishly writing.

It's more than just paying bills, of course. Having income means being able to buy things I like - like books, which are becoming more and more expensive but impossible to live without (show me a writer, a good writer, who doesn't read and I'll eat my shoe), good food, films, the whole quality-of-life argument.

So in the matter of totem-pole prioritites, business, once again, takes the top spot. I gave up feeling sad or dejected about this social reality (hey, maybe that's why I rage so much against social realism, LOL) and just manage to find ways to write when time presents itself or when I can schedule it - very late at night or very early in the morning.

I'm not really complaining. More of expelling a sigh of "okay, okay" and getting on with things.

Vin once asked me this: "If you no longer had to work, and had all the money you wanted, would you write more?"

I told him yes and no. Yes, because of the free time. But no, because knowing myself, I'd probably want to do something else, busy my mind with non-writing, non-quality-of-life stuff. In other words, I'd want to work, do something else.

Right now though, I feel that my previous statement is only partially true.

Coming back from Dumaguete, I had a new story, 1/4th of another new one about a brother and sister taking a hell of a long walk, two scenes for the next novel, and a Word file of new story ideas. I found myself challenged anew, reinvigorated, and raring to write and submit stories for publication.

But.

So.

Okay.

I fall back into the previous rhythm of my life, managing the tension between words and work, and choose my attitude.

Because, because, because.