Time Bandits

It seems like nary a day goes by in which some misinformed individual passes a judgment as to the flexibility of my writing schedule. People automatically assume that because I am a freelance writer my cup must certainly runneth over with scads of free time. After all, I work when I want. Therefore, I am endlessly called upon to run here, go there, be available at such and such a time... blah, blah, blah. And you know, for a while there - even I fell for it.



I figured, well, sure I'll do this for so and so. After all it'll really help them, seeing as they have to work and all. I can spare a few hours. If they needed me to come in a bit early to coach at the gym, they could count on me. I'd be there. It only meant going in an hour early, it was okay.



A chunk of time here. A smidgen of time there. No big. I could deal. I could work around it; I create my own schedule you know.



Yeah, I was in deep alright.



The worst part about it was that I was permitting my own work to be compromised and devalued by failing to demand that anyone, anyone at all, respect my time. Even myself. And it was nearly fatal to my creative works. The more time I spent pursuing the tasks everyone else prescribed me, resulted in completing my paying assignments during the hours I would have spent on my creative works had I held to my own schedule.



Finally, it was up to me to undo the damage. I had to start saying no. And it wasn't easy. People weren't very receptive to my sudden inclination to decline their requests of my time. Their response when I asserted my need to adhere to a writing schedule I likened to how I imagine a thirsty dog would react to the sudden removal of his water-bowl while he is smack-dab in the middle of drinking. Dogs don't like going thirsty, and people don't like hearing the word no. Unfailingly both respond with the same surprised sideways tilt of the head, wearing an expression that asks "Huh?" Some even growl. So be it.



It had to be done or my creative work would literally die of neglect. Robbed of its sustenance, its value, and ultimately its right to exist by the time bandits who would continue to raid my creative itinerary, unless I stood to defend it.



That's not to claim that my reclaimed writing agenda is without interruption. Life happens. Business need to get done, kids need tending, dogs need to be walked, house needs to be cleaned and, in my case, gymnasts need to be coached. It's like a smooth walk across a balance beam just before tossing a back Handspring that lands a little wobbly; sometimes you just have to grit your teeth and hang on, or the amazing thing you were doing has lost all its value.