Yesterday, while talking about where I work with someone, I mentioned that I take the commuter rail into Boston—a 45ish minute commute. The other person’s response, “Oh, so you have that commute,” as though she sympathized with the pain of such a long commute.
That struck me, because while the commute I have now is about as long as the one I had commuting into Providence, I actually look forward to it. Where before I would have thanked her for her sympathy and acknowledged how unpleasant long commutes are1, I am actually quite glad to have the commute I do because it affords me the opportunity to write for an hour and a half every day with no distractions.
Worldbuilding for the next book involves Calculus and relativistic physics. The reader will never see any of this, but it has a direct impact on when the events of the story play out. I also have a very rough story outline, well ahead of my January 31 deadline and wrote a dialog skeleton for the last scene in the book while on the train this morning. Can’t wait to dive into this one!
Writers write, but writers must also read. I’ve been lax about this, much to my chagrin, but surging through Ashes, finishing it, and releasing it has stirred in me the desire to read more—a lot more. I’m angling to get a Kindle for Christmas to further facilitate this, at which point I will probably spend all the money on buying the various books on my Goodreads to-read list.
- Rest assured, I’m under no illusion that 45 minutes is even in the ballpark of “worst commute.” [↩]