No, you totally read that right.
I really, truly don’t like weekends. I live for Monday through Thursday. I dread Fridays, and I look forward to Sunday night when I can settle in to a new week. I promise I’m not being sarcastic. (I know, it’s hard to tell on the internet).
You see, on the weekends and about one morning a week, I work my customer service-oriented job, my if-you-have-time-to-lean-you-have-time-to-clean job. I’m thankful for this job (really), but my word count is significantly lower on the days I work it, mostly because I’m drained by the time I’m done. Going into an imaginary world with imaginary people (who in my stories behave just like real people) is often the last thing I want to do.
I live for those mornings where I can sleep a little later, sip on coffee, interact with readers, read, and then write. For a few hours, I am immersed in another world, with other people. During these hours, the characters talk to each other, and I observe them, writing what I see and hear. And once I’m in that place, the words just flow.
I don’t get there on the weekends, and so I’m not a big fan of weekends.
I get to go there today, on a Monday, and tomorrow, and the two days following that.
The days I love most are the days I get to write.