Time to write, time to read, time to do anything is hard to come by. Often I find myself writing in little snippets in between a million other things I do every day. From the laundry to taking care of the kids to my job my life is busy. I find though that if I don't make the time to write I go crazy. The stories get stuck in my head, wrapping through my mind over and over and driving me to distraction. It is at those times that I set everything aside I can (kids don't just let you set them aside) and write. It is in these moments I realize I write to live. It is my therapy, my way of communicating with a world that I have never been good at. In my characters, these worlds I create, I find myself in all of the pieces of their fragmented and tormented lives, and their successes become mine. Without my writing I regress back into my shell, fighting my autistic tendencies.
Time is important, and there is little of it, but somehow for me when I write that time expands and more is able to be accomplished than I could ever get done without it.