What is writing but an addiction that romps through the veins and mind? Gleefully stealing hours and days, years, if one is not careful. May be it is why so many, like myself, wait till we get old to sit down and pen something. That first spill of ink becomes a life of tapping and flat fingers, resentment for having give up an hour to fun instead of the keyboard, hated hours or seconds of separation for paper and ink, or writing media. A hope, that this is the last one. Just one more. Breathe. Breathe. Shiver. Breathe.
It almost never is the last one. One more story always comes up, if not we create it just to sit and give the keys and ink a hit. Writing as a hobby, tends to become life shrouded behind the keyboard. Even while a writer is at rest they see a chapter evolve or the next part of a project, or their whole next project. One thing a writer learns is that it is a hobby that gives very little, if any downtime.
The mind is continually on something pertaining to what you are doing, one way or another. Even in dreams, parts of what we currently have in the works make themselves present. Lucid or recurring dreams, day-mares or dreams, schemes of finding time within the space of work or activities.
When a hobbyist takes up writing, most know that it will be an undertaking for the long haul. One that will take up nights, days, those times you once would rather be out with friends or family, lots of times having to be dragged away from the keys oftentimes, screaming for just one more paragraph – just one more. “If you were me would you pull you away”?
Though, it is a hobby / career that your characters welcome you with open arms, mostly, lovingly, for their creation, though, some will curse you at the end of their saga. Sagas writers never take up again and yet never forget. Writing is to a writer, what the blood is to the veins. An outlet for the quiet mad mind. Get in the fun. You know you want to.