I fell asleep in my younger son’s bed last night along with the older son. It was terribly crowded, but no one minded. I fell asleep, happy to be there, but thinking of everything that needed to be done. After an hour nap, I woke up, thinking about everything that needed to be done. There are a slew of things that need to be done. When I had closed my laptop to hustle them into bed, I had been editing the next draft of the novel. When I returned to my own bed, the last thing I wanted to do was continue editing the novel. The laptop sat closed on my bed and the sight of it sickened me. I wondered – what is the point of investing time and energy into something as “unguaranteed” as a piece of art – that it will make it off the laptop and into someone’s hands to read- when there are so many other concrete things to take care of, such as grading papers, answering the endless stream of incoming emails and doing something for work. I left the laptop alone, closed the door and went to sleep- thinking about how far behind I am.

And then I woke up the next morning while it was still dark outside, opened the laptop and resumed editing. It may never make it off the laptop and I’m not convinced it isn’t entirely a waste of time, but it continues to nag me. It is the last thing I work on- after all the grading, planning and committee work for my paid job is done. It comes after laundry and dishes and wiping down toilets and sinks. It is a late night thought, when I am tired and fall asleep sitting upright with the laptop on my lap- the screen dark from inactivity. It is taking forever. But I refuse to leave it alone.

I took a break from blogging- explaining to my skirt!-sisters that I had to work on this novel. This damn novel. As if I couldn’t do both. But truth be told, when I’m editing, I am skeptical of its utility. In my mind, there has to be a pay-off, either financial or a concrete product. Something to make the time and energy worth it.

With all the other things I could and should be working on, writing for the sake of writing is not one them. Perhaps it’s a reflection of the economy. Perhaps an acknowledgement of more pressing and concrete responsibilities. And yet, I continue to edit because I cannot leave it alone. I think that’s a good thing.