We think of time travel as the stuff of science fiction: books, television shows, movies. But I'm here to tell you it's real. I mean, on February 9, 2015, I must have climbed into a time machine because the next thing I know, it's October 1, 2015 and I definitely did not pass through any of the time in between.

Here's the thing, though. Time travel is real. We are all moving forward in time, together, at the same rate. And whether we're aware of it, or if we remember it, or whatever: it doesn't matter. We are all time travelers.

I began 2015 with an extremely high amount of optimism.

• I was still on my writing high from NaNoWriMo 2014.
• I dusted off the audio studio and actually recorded some music.
• I even rebooted this blog, with plans of wowing everyone each week with some new creative accomplishment of mine.

A funny thing happened while I was in the time machine. Stuff happened.

• I got extremely busy with work, starting in February or so.
• I was on the road more than usual this year.
• We decided that after nearly fifteen years in the same house, it was time to move. Hundreds of hours have been poured into this unexpected project.

And now here we are, with another PBWQ standing before me. Staring at me. Taunting me. And the thing is, I haven't really gotten past all those blockers I just listed. The Move Project will continue to dominate my so-called free time for the next half year.

But . . . but . . . but it's that time again. That time. I don't what it is when October hits, but I just feel the need to get back to writing. It calls to me as strongly as those seventeen Double Stuf Golden Oreos in the other room do.

So what do I do about it? Well, here's the other thing. I do something about it. And by "something" I mean just that: the opposite of nothing. Last year I spent October prepping for November. I cranked out fifty thousand words in the first ten days of NaNoWriMo. I kept that momentum going, at least through January of this year.

I cannot do that this year. I just don't have the time. But I can't say I don't have any time. There's no reason I can't squeeze in fifteen minutes a day. It's not much, but at the end of a quarter, that's still over twenty hours of work. Sure, I can't write a book in twenty hours. But I definitely won't write a book in zero hours. Between the two, I choose twenty hours.

Keep checking up on me. I'll let you know how it's going.

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