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Finding the Time to make the Time

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!

The view from our room in Kelly's

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!