Some people say that they wish they could write, or that they would write, if only they had the time. I was told by my college fiction writing professor that you just have to make time to write. I find myself writing during odd hours of the night, like now, with whatever I come up with. Part of our grade in that course was to keep a journal, which is a popular method to keep writers writing. We would have exercises and things that we would have to do to keep us writing and make us think, and develop ideas, but more importantly, we could add whatever we wanted to the mix of thoughts jumping around our cerebral cortices.
I write wherever and whenever I can get away with it. I’m thinking about taking my journal to work with me next time. I sit on the train and write in the note application on my phone when I can sneak it. I kind of hope that no one is peering over my shoulder or glances at the screen to see what I’m writing, because it simply doesn’t appear to be a text message. I find the time to write. It’s just something I must do to get my work down. Thoughts can pass you by and vanish if you don’t write things down. I may forget about a scene I was inspired by from walking down the street one day, or a conversation I have with a stranger on another.
There is no limit, and to set limits for when and where you should write is frankly ridiculous. Hemingway would write about different a story in one location, while that very same story was set somewhere else. He felt like his frame of mind and the location he was writing from felt right. Some things are inexplicable like that. I try to best use my time and resources available, losing sleep here and there, to allow for longer days and more time to get more done. Why not be the best you can be and maximize your potential?