Diary Of Being A Writer; Week 74

I didn’t write this diary.

I did write this week.
Not as much as I would have liked.
I didn’t write this diary for the first time in 74 weeks.
I can’t even tell you how many words it was or what I worked on exactly.
I did not have enough time to myself, uninterrupted by other things, other people, other distractions.
I have looked at my calendar, and there will only be one writing day next week too.
The following week will be messy, but I might be able to manage to sneak in some bits and pieces here and there.
But the week after that I am pretty sure I can wrangle three mornings in a row.
Three days where I can immerse myself in my task get some momentum going and hopefully get my head back into it all and make some progress.
I know that I should try and write each day, even if it is a little bit. However, because I am editing and rewriting my memoir, I don’t feel like I can dip in and out easily, partly because I am trying to give it more of a flow than it has right now and partly because depending on where I am up to it can bring me down. I don’t need that in the middle of an otherwise busy day full of other demands on me.
It is tempting to play around with my fiction ideas, but I feel I need to concentrate on the memoir. I want to finish a second more story-like draft.
This intimidates me more than when I was just writing a bunch of anecdotes rather than actually…