Shouldn’t I be spending every available waking moment at the screen, or on the page, writing? I despair, and the word is not too severe, at the amount of time I waste.
This morning I came across this bit of writerly self-revelation from Joyce Carol Oates, likely the world’s most prolific writer, in The Writer’s Desk by Jill Krementz, a book that’s lived with me for years:
I don’t have any formal writing habits. Most of the time I do nothing, and the fact of time passing so relentlessly is a source of anguish to me. There are not enough hours in the day. Yet I waste most of my time, in daydreaming, in drawing faces on pieces of paper.
Just imagine if, back then in 1981, she’d had an i-Pad . . .