September was tougher than I thought it would be...

I suppose I should have known that the first full month of school would be busy enough that I failed to write as often as I hoped, but I still find myself disappointed in my performance. I not only failed to write as often as I wanted (though it was still a vast improvement over the month of August and most of the rest of the year) I also failed to exercise as often as I wanted to (again an improvement over the last few months, but not as much as I should have done).  Even at this reduced rate I still managed to write 10 short stories, some of which may never see the light of day. It's a warm up for November at best, but it's better than nothing.

After the struggle of September I decided that this month, I would give myself no excuses on either count. I wrote out a schedule with all of my classes and other obligations for work and then I added in scheduled times to run, bike, swim and write. I left weekends open to do whatever I like, but now during the week I am obligated, by my own agreement (with myself), to run four times a week, bike and swim twice a week each, and write five days a week. On weekends I can do all or none of those things as I choose (I generally choose to do some of each), but during the week, it's part of my schedule. Thou shalt not mess with my exercise and writing schedule. So sayeth Gwen, so shall it be done. 

October, watch out.

As yesterday was Sunday I was not obligated to write, but as those of you know who read yesterday's post I wrote a bit anyway because I was having trouble sleeping. So, here's a small taste of what two in the morning writing gets you, and now I'm off to do some of my "scheduled" writing. Yipee!

*****

There were two trees at the end of the world. One was a desolate clawing thing, that grasped at the clouds on the edge of the world and clung to the cliff side in a desperate attempt to stay among the living. The other was a tree of fire, a tree so alive with color that it danced against the sky, raged against the dark grey of the storms that played around it, a tree that screamed that life was joy, celebration and a struggle against the pain and darkness. 

Everyone understood the first tree, the first tree was predictable, the first tree you could depend on. It was what you expected of the tree at the end of the world. You saw it and thought, “Ah yes, here I am, world’s end.”

No one ever suspected the second tree.