I spent Sunday night coding a script for work. Then I got to haul myself into the office early Monday morning and stare at the monitor some more. There were, of course, a flurry of "urgent" requests to deal with, up to the very minute I left (12 hours after I walked in). Then a four-mile run on the evening that, it turns out, wind advisories were issued for the area. Then I stumbled home and contemplated staring at the monitor some more, this time for my work-in-progress.
Why are my writing sesions in the late evening? I avoid writing before I leave for work, or during my lunch or typing breaks in the office, because it's too successful — I get totally engrossed into my clever new subplot, and then it turns time for me to go back to my work project. I don't want to build up any writerly resentment against my job, which I know I'm incredibly fortunate to have in this economic climate, and which is why I can afford to write. Some days, though, it's hard to remember this.
But even when a part of my brain gets burnt out by my work, it's thankfully not the part that dreams of where next shall my story go. There's still a mighty resistance against sitting in front of a computer, but hey, I just ran into a headwind. I've found myself blinking into a clock face that announces it's past the hour when bars close, because I got too caught up in a story. (Inevitably these are the nights before morning meetings.)
I love writing. As with running, it may be tough to motivate myself to actually get ready and actually head out on my way, but once I've managed that, the endorphins kick in and I remember why it's all worth it. And the gale in my face? It actually feels kind of refreshing.