As I sit at my desk and survey the wreckage that is my writing studio (formerly known as my living room) I realize I have not really done any housework in weeks. Trust me, if you saw my house you would say "Just weeks?" By the way, you obsessively clean Suzie Homemaker types really get on my nerves, but I digress. But if someone were to ask me why my cats are afraid to go under the couch for fear that large dust bunny in the corner is actually alive, I would proudly say "Well, I am suffering for my art." (To which that person would reply "bull***" disguised as a cough. I have interesting friends.)
But, hey, isn't that what we artistic types - writers, painters, musicians, poets - are supposed to do? We're supposed to make sacrifices for our art. True, I'm not lying on my back painting the Sistine Chapel, nor am I starving in some Parisian apartment, but trust me, if my Mom came to visit and saw this house I WOULD pull a Van Gogh and cut off my ear, both of them in fact. Not that it would help. That woman has a voice that when she is in full cry makes drill sergeants wet themselves.
I'm trying to finish my third book this week. It is already later than I told my agent it would be finished. So, I am giving up sleep, any and all social activities, internet time (not all of it, I'm no fanatic, yet!)shaving my legs, cleaning my house, reading and pretty much anything that isn't writing. Wouldn't mind giving up my day job to write, but at this point it does pay for little luxuries like food and living indoors. Many of you have seen me. Do I LOOK like I would give up food? Didn't think so.
So, my question is, what are you sacrificing for your art? Do you sometimes resent it or are you like me - my WORST day writing beats my best day at just about anything else. So, anybody willing to lop off body parts, go days without sleep, come over here and kill that big dust bunny before my cat has a nervous breakdown?