What I wanted to say before I forgot: matociquala was saying that early in her writing, she had to tell herself different lies, and one of them was, "It's just for fun." And I've heard that before, and I just wanted to say: not me. I never did.
I think the problem is that while I respect fun immensely, "just" fun is different. "Just" fun has the freedom not to be taken seriously, so I can understand why it was a needed freedom for other people early on -- but people are always more than willing not to take my writing seriously. Or at least they were. Some of them still are. Today I got an e-mail containing the line, "Your book sounds serious rather than fantasy." (This was from an older family member.) I wandered the house clutching my hair and groaning. It's still a dichotomy for her, and she was surprised about what side of that dichotomy I fell on. (Well, hell, if I agreed with her, I'd probably be surprised, too.) It is very easy for other people to act like I'm finger-painting here. Agreeing with them was never a positive thing for me. I had to fight for time to myself to write in the first place. Telling myself it wasn't serious would have been the fast track to not doing it at all.
I think I need to do more things that are "just for fun." I think I need to do things without particularly serious intent. For me, what that probably means is that I need to dig out the paints again. But I'm loath to add requirements to my days. I'm not eager to put fun on a list to be checked off: have I included whimsy in my daily schedule? Yes, for 13.7 minutes. Good. Next we'll schedule the spontaneity.
Ummmmmm. Insert coherent ending here, all right? Because I'm going to go read more of Post Captain before I crash. Being a morning person is not all it's cracked up to be.