It’s an odd hobby to have, being a writer. I liken it to something akin to a religious experience in that I often talk to myself and it’s full of guilt.

I feel guilty when I’m not writing.

I feel guilty when I am writing.

I feel guilty when I’m thinking of plot points in the car and not listening to my wife tell me for the hundredth time that I must pick up my daughter at 2.30 instead of 3.20, and then I feel guilty later when I get a call from the school at 2.45 wondering where I am.

Guilty, guilty, guilty.

Even as I sit here now, with my WIP open in one window and this blog open in another, I feel an intense guilt. It’s a guilt sourced from multiple places.

• I’ve not written for several weeks.
• I’ve left my wife in the house with two children.
• I’m writing this blog instead of writing my novel.
• I’m writing this blog instead of critiquing work for other writers in the lab.
• I’m procrastinating writing this blog by scrolling through X and Bluesky in yet another tab…

The point is I feel like I’m not ever making the correct choice in how I spend my time. Writing is hard and takes many hours of uninterrupted focus to get a book done. Running a business selling those books is yet more time, and being a part of a bustling community of writers is even more. Throw onto that pile some young children, a day job, and a wife, and suddenly priorities get murky.

And sometimes, I just want to sit in front of the TV and play video games.*

Going into 2026, things need to change, and despite the danger of sounding like a cliché, I may need to embrace the mantra; new year, new me.

Or at the very least: new year, new micromanaged schedule with every activity planned and timetabled to the hour.

I think that’s the only way I’m going to get back on track.

Will it alleviate the guilt? Probably not, but at least I’ll remember to pick my daughter up from ballet at the correct time.

J

*and feel guilty for doing so the whole time.