Making Time to Write

As a full time student who spends every free hour either reading for school, writing for school, thinking about school, writing (and reading) personally becomes more difficult each day. But I still find time to write, outline, work on some manuscript related project. But I found some awesome advice from debut author Amy Tintera when it comes to writing.

I was going to write out a long list about I managed my time, how I prioritized, how I made word count goals. But, honestly, making time to write, for me, all comes down to one thing:

Be honest with yourself.

I sat down and took a hard look at myself. I was in my twenties, childless, in excellent health. I had very few responsibilities outside myself. My time was my own.

 After reading this, suddenly I felt guilty for browsing more author/publishing blogs and putting off my draft.

So I'm off to write.

The things you find on reddit--

The first rule of Write Club is that no one gives a shit about your desk. Your desk has nothing to do with your writing. Hemingway wrote in cafes. Stephen King started out at a child's desk that he could barely fit his gangly knees under. Grisham wrote on the subway on steno pads. Chee writes on trains in sleeper cars. Capote wrote in bed. Thomas Clayton Wolfe wrote on the top of a refrigerator.
Try finding pictures of this. With the exception of Capote (that flamboyant bastard) you won't. That's because these people were too busy writing to have their pictures taken.
The second rule of Write Club is that you don't spend more time talking about writing than you spend writing. Of course writers are going to talk about writing, it's inevitable. It's such a lonely job, we are all just solitary creatures of expression howling for some form of validation. But every minute you spend talking about writing is a minute you are spending not writing. And some day - maybe today, maybe one day soon, maybe years from now - you are going to die. So now is the moment you ask: do you want to be remembered as someone who talked about his unfinished novel a lot, or do you want to be remembered as a writer?
The third rule of Write Club is that if you stop, go limp, tap out, and/or give up, based on criticism or laziness or the general inability to effectively manage your lifespan, the writing is over. You can call yourself a writer if you sit around talking about notes and outlines and drinking and reading and musing, but writers do one thing: write. All the time. Short stories. Screenplays. Blogs. Articles. Stageplays. Novels. Writing prompts. Novellas. Books. No matter how shitty your writing is, if you are writing, then you are a writer. If you are not writing, then you are not.
The fourth rule of Write Club is that there are only two guys to a story: you against yourself.The fifth rule of Write Club: one story at a time. Finish it, beat it into submission or have your ass kicked by it, but do not start another story until your story is done.
Sixth rule of Write Club: Your tools don't matter. Pens, pencils, typewriters, cats, writing books, influential novels, highlighters, napkins, index cards, binders, notebooks, Macbooks, laptops, desktops, iPads, iPhones, none of it is worth a flying blue fuck if you're not actively writing on it.
Seventh rule: Submissions will go on as long as they have to. You can work on something for three hours or three years. But do not stop until you are finished with it, do not stop revising it until it is done, and do not stop sending it out (revised) until it is published. See the Fifth rule.
Eighth rule of Write Club - If this is your first night at Write Club, you have to write. 

Now, shut up and write.  

(SOURCE)

Today was less stressful, but still up to my ears with reading and papers and stress. It's relentless I tell you!

WORD COUNT: 0

Once I get my classes cleared up, then I'll feel comfortable sitting at the keyboard with Word open. But for now, I feel incredibly guilty just having it open in the background.

I’ve written six books now, but instead of making it easier, it has complicated matters to the point of absurdity. I have no idea what I’m doing. All the decisions I appear to have made—about plots and characters and where to start and when to stop—are not decisions at all. They are compromises. A book is whittled down from hope, and when I start to cut my fingers I push it away from me to see what others make of it. And I wait in terror for the judgements of those others—judgements that seem, whether positive or negative, unjust, because they are about something that I didn’t really do. They are about something that happened to me. It’s a little like crawling from a car crash to be greeted by a panel of strangers holding up score cards.

Exactly. (source)