I couldn’t not tell you why this happens to be the case, but in the last few days I’ve found myself wanting to write something entirely different from what I normally do; I don’t know if it’s simply needing to take a mental break, or wanting to stretch new muscles or some combination of the two, but it’s been a running theme in my head recently.
Specifically, I’ve wondered what it would be like to write guides to everyday tasks. You know the kinds of things: step-by-step methodologies to things that we all do every day without even really thinking about it, to help someone less skilled in whatever task get better at it. Every morning, as I make tea for myself and Chloe, I think to myself, I wonder what it would be like to write a guide to making a good cup of tea.
Of course, it’s the kind of idea doomed to failure; I couldn’t write something entirely dryly without breaking character, I’m pretty sure — nor, to be honest, something that I’d want to not break character at least once — but also, it’s something that I suspect I’d lose interest in quickly because there are inevitably going to be other things demanding my attention that, you know, pay my bills, and that’s something that tends to win out in the competition for my affections. (I’m so mercenary.)
And yet. And yet.
I want to write something like, if only there were more hours in the day, but the honest fact is, if there were more hours in the day, it would be great to use them on things that don’t involve me sitting in front of a computer or an iPad. What I really mean, I think, is that I occasionally (more than occasionally) wish there was more space in my brain to do things that remind me that writing was a hobby and one I loved, before writing became my job. Even if it means writing instructions for someone to make a cup of tea.