How do you manage your schedule?

If you’re an artist, you’re likely being pulled in many directions. In my experience, the calendar hanging on my pantry door needs no encouragement to fill itself up. I fight to keep it clear enough that I won’t become exhausted, either socially or physically, by the continual commitments and events competing for my attention.

Some days I wake up and feed my kiddos, tidy the kitchen, water my plants, supervise chore time, give the dog his vitamins, drink my coffee and throw in a load of laundry—all before 10 am. This level of productivity lures me into a hopeful state of mind. Maybe today I’ll have time to get to my writing before bedtime.

Somehow, the hours fly by. Lunchtime, some little folks take naps, and I suddenly discover a moment of quiet around 1 pm. I sit down at my pretty, secluded desk space. One of two things usually happens: I have massive writer’s block, or the baby wakes up. By the time everyone’s in bed for the night, I’m far too tired to write anything. Besides, there’s my front porch swing and best friend waiting for me. I moved to South Carolina for the weather, so it’d be a pity to waste these summer nights!

I’ve written about the futility of life as an artist—working hard for little to no recognition other than a personal sense of accomplishment. But there’s much of this feeling in the non-artistic arenas of my life too. Each day is a labor: sometimes a labor of love, sometimes of duty. I feel called to what I do, and find a lot of satisfaction in running my house efficiently and caring for my children with compassion.

I’m a mother and I keep house. But I’m an artist too. There are days, like the one I described, where I feel like I’m working my hardest to reach open water where I have space to create. More often than not, I never make it. Scheduling a specific block of hours for my husband to take the kids so I can write has helped. I’m very thankful his occupation gives him leeway to offer me that kind of help, and I’m grateful he’s a supportive spouse when it comes to my art.

There are times where I think, “All I need is a good twelve hours to myself.” Sometimes I wonder, “What amazing first draft could I complete if only I could write in consecutive intervals?”

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that idealism doesn’t pan out the way I think it should with my artistic undertakings. Writing a novel isn’t easy to accomplish, whether I’ve got all the time in the world or only ten minutes a day. I think it’s fortunate that I don’t have as much time as I want. The way things are now, I’m champing at the bit far more than I would be if I had nothing to do other than sit at my desk for twelve hours, five days a week, all year long.

My schedule keeps filling. My art keeps flowing. It seeps into whatever cracks of time and effort it can find to escape through. I’ve a history of resisting hard work that doesn’t have a quick payoff, resting on my “talents” instead of pursuing my passions through the mundane. This is a character flaw I hope to grow beyond.

At the end of this year, I might have accomplished very little compared to artists with fewer responsibilities. But what I do accomplish will be hard-earned, and perhaps my procrastination will be far less. All in all, I think it’s good for me to be humbled as an artist.