This week I have been lucky to leave my normal routine and head to Kelly’s Hotel in Rosslare, Co. Wexford, for a much needed few days of rest and relaxation. The reason for this lovely mini-break is to celebrate my mother, Bridget’s 70th birthday. Her birthday was in May but as she is such a social butterfly, she’s only found time in her calendar to come away with me now!
Taking time out of my every day routine is slightly different now that I am a soon-to-be published writer. This is the first holiday I’ve taken since Poolbeg offered me my book deal. Previous to this, I would have left work, put on my out of office and thought of nothing work-related until I return to my office next Monday. This time it’s different.
Aside from my 9 to 5 job, on my agenda at the moment is work to complete another edit of the first draft of Home to Cavendish; ensuring it meets the requirements of the Poolbeg house-style, respond to a question and answer document with a variety of details about me which will be used by Poolbeg for publicity purposes, write my next blog and get to the fifty-thousand word mark on the first draft of my, yet to me named, second novel.
At this point I probably should say - I am so busy. The thing is, I hate that phrase. I firmly believe that, if like me, you don’t have children, being busy is a choice. Some people love ‘being busy’, which always amuses me. I love when people ask me how I am getting on and I say, ‘Great, everything is fine, I have everything under control’.
This statement is not always received well. Sometimes I can see confusion in people’s faces, as if, admitting to the fact that I am not busy somehow makes me irrelevant.
I completely disagree with this train of thought. I love to relax; more than anything. Particularly after coming home from work, where may I say, I am incredibly busy and work to very tight deadlines. Luckily, I find writing relaxing and the best form of escapism I know.
Sometimes, I do hear myself telling people, when they ask me where I found the time to write a book, that I am so busy, and the pressure is really on. The truth is, it isn’t. I only say this because it feels like the right thing to say and it seems to be ingrained now that being busy is the only option.
I have an hour and a half commute to work at either side of each day. I hate my commute; it’s ridiculous that it takes so long when I live less than fifty kilometers from my office. I also have an hour for lunch. Where did I find time to write a book? It’s not that hard to figure out.
If you add to that, writing for an hour or so when I get home, every second evening and a couple of hours at the weekend, over the course of a year; I managed to get it done. That also allows for Saturday morning lie-ins, time with my partner and family, evening walks in the country-side, dinner, household chores, reading- time and all else.
The sun was shining when we arrived in Rosslare yesterday, but the rain is pounding down now. There’s a full afternoon of activities planned in the hotel. My most pressing problem is deciding between taking the mindfulness class or winning the hotel table quiz; it’s tough being so busy…….
P.S. We didn’t win the table quiz, I am blaming it on Bridget!