Sunday morning. Have had tea and muffin (OK, two muffins) for breakfast. And now—

Writing. That’s all there is right now, when I’m not working.

I should weed the front yard. I should clean out my closet and put away the pile of clothes on the guest bed. My floors could use some serious attention. We have houseguests coming in two weeks, and at some point I’m going to have to deal with the state of my house. The state of my life, which is sort of ravel-y.

But right now, I have to prioritize, and I’m choosing writing.

I even chose writing over reading this weekend when I missed the Printers Row Lit Fest. Third year in a row I’ve missed it, but the last two were for different priorities (my nieces, who were born the day before the Lit Fest in 2008, and then had their ladybug birthday party last year). This year I was free to go—but not. Because the writing doesn’t get done if I don’t prioritize.

I have to tell myself that it’s all worth it. Not watching shows that everyone else watches. Not reading as many books as I would like. Spending every lunch hour with my computer instead of work friends or a magazine. Never making time to get a pedicure. Getting up an hour early to write instead of so many other things I might do with my time. Like exercise two muffins off my butt.

The good news is that it’s already worth it. I enjoy writing. Writing is still fun for me. Publication someday? Yes, that’s the goal. But in the short term, it’s hard to sacrifice for a “someday.” (See “dieting.”) If it weren’t fun right now, I’m not sure I could do what I’m doing.

So. Sorry, Printers Row. There’s always next year. (Gillian Flynn, please speak at Printers Row again next year!) And someday, maybe you’d like to have me there not just as a reader, but as a writer. I’d prioritize my attendance, I assure you.