At the moment I'm halfway through the Jim Henson biography by Brian Ray Jones. I like it very much, although it's a big fat book (608 pages) and barely fits in the tray on my treadmill. One of the things about working at home as a writer is everyone assumes you're able to do whatever you want, whenever you want. For example - hey, I feel like reading more of the Jim Henson biography. So I'll just go outside on the patio, sit down and slam through a chapter or two. After I dash out for a quick mani/pedi.
Alas. No one said being self motivated is easy. Years ago a writer friend said to me, "Even if you work at home, you have to have a schedule. If it's nine to five, or nine at night till six in the morning, that's what you do. Make it your writing time. Five days a week, weekends off. Because writing is a job."
Of course he was right. During the day I try to keep to a schedule. (Games of hearts and spider solitaire don't count.) And it's not as if when the weekend rolls around I'm suddenly looking at hours and hours of free time. There are children to schlep, groceries to purchase, laundry, thousands of little errands that make you crazy, like buying lightbulbs and printer ink and the dog's special food that can only be purchased at the vet - and wait, didn't I just go to Costco?
So for now my reading time is spent on the treadmill. Forty-five minutes at a fast walk (because I couldn't read if I were running, duh). At this rate, Jim Henson: the Biography will take me from Los Angeles to Disneyland.
Spoiler alert: Bert and Ernie were not named for the cab driver and the policeman in It's a Wonderful Life.