As at home, morning writing starts with email and blog writing. Since I’m six hours ahead of the east coast, I have time; no one is up waiting to hear from me at 2 AM. Early morning walk, writing at a café while consuming a cappuccino and brioche, and my blog post is about ready. While I’m in Florence I blog pretty much every day. After all, no one will tire of too many picture of Florence.
Why is it so easy to write here, but not a home. Easy, because here I don’t have family and friends taking up time in my life. Oh, I can email them, but when home I give them a lot of physical time, which is what living in community is about. Thus, writing is less of a flow, more staccato. I have to fit it in when I can. When I travel alone my time is my own.
Right now, as I sit finishing an Austrian apple strudel at the Christmas Market at Santa Croce, I am writing. I have made a preliminary scan of the market stalls—no buying today. It is 3:45 in the afternoon. The rest of the day is before me; to write or not to write, that is the question I am free to answer.