I’m writing about balance this week not because I have achieved it, but because I fail at it so miserably. Still, I realize how important it is. In fact, I struggle with it every day. I am just naturally obsessive in my work. It is difficult to get my mind wrapped all the way around a problem, and once it’s there, it’s also hard to tear it away. I can code a computer program for hours, forgetting to move, to eat, to take even a break to stand up and walk around, until I get so tired I can no longer understand the code I have written and tested. Writing is the same way. It winds through my mind like great tree roots, and while the result is not always worth keeping, the oneness with the characters and emotional connection with the story are wonderful to feel. It’s as if the tale is growing and leafing out right before my eyes. It’s no wonder that when it’s time to stop, even if the writing is tortured, it’s so hard to reel my mind back in and then sink it into something else.

Lately I’ve been doing even worse with balance than usual. I don’t know what the difference is. Neither does my psychiatrist. My monthly visits with him rarely take five minutes. I’ve told him things aren’t going very well. He doesn’t know what to change. I suspect he’s just happy I’m not depressed and doesn’t want to adjust anything that could send me into a tailspin. Above all, do no harm, right?

I also worry about the time invested in my writing not only by me, but by my wife, who is my first reader, first editor, and first critic. Reading and editing my work chews up too many hours of her weeks. She doesn’t complain—she’s a giver in every respect—but I don’t give enough in return. As I quoted Stephen King in the picture that goes with this post, “Life isn’t a support system for art. It’s the other way around.” My art makes my life richer, but does it enrich us enough? When I ponder that question, my response not being an obvious yes troubles me.

So I will keep questioning, keep trying to keep my balance, stand up straight, and not fall over as I feel my way along, keep holding on to the iron rod in faith that I’ll get stronger along the way—and keep an eye out for some great tales to tell.