I'm replying here in response to a Facebook discussions in regard to time usage. It's a little more complicated than it sounds, in my case. Some writer friends go for this or that social media outlet to showcase their name or work. I have presences on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Instagram, G+, LinkedIn, and Goodreads, to name a few of the popular ones. However, I spend more time on Facebook in part due to daily practical need versus opportunity. Instagram is possibly the least used. In the middle zone, I have blogs.
I used to be at home a lot, and I kept up my blogs fairly well, sharing links on the various outlets. I like blogging, always enjoyed it. This was before a whole herd of nightmares descended on us. The reason I was home a lot involved chronic physical disability. We lived mostly off grid (a phone line in, with dial-up was the exception).
I grew nontraditional, low-labor gardens to keep active. Then our source of income failed, injuries added to the underlying illness(es), and despite help from valiant friends, we lost our home and all we had struggled so hard to build. It's a common story in these times, though I was startled to find how many people were doing as we have, and living in campers. It's a whole new, nearly invisible American subculture. In search of jobs within physical ability, many middle aged and/or aging, childless (and some whole family units or individuals, too) are going nomad. Some simply want the freedom, and others are following where their special area of expertise leads. It varies.
Workers on Wheels, nomads, ramblin' souls... there's no brick and mortar anchor to hold them. Banking and other laws are discouraging putting down roots.
There's little self-pity being bandied about; it's a case of "Get on with it!" And we are, starting next spring, as soon as some medical releases allow. In the meantime, we're just holding out the best way we can, same as everyone else. It is what it is. I have zero problem with the need to work; I do have problems with chronic pain and low endurance.
Writing gives me a creative form of activity that, frankly, keeps me from going completely bonkers. With five little volumes of nonfiction animal stories (not angled for children), and three fun adult magical realism/fantasy novels in a series self-published through Amazon's CreateSpace, the past year has been busy indeed. (I couldn't have done those without a dear friend. Find her at www.moonshinewidow.com !)
At present, I'm two-thirds through a far more serious manuscript, a science fiction item with some cross-genre aspects. When it's done, I have multiple works in varying stages of progress. More of the fun fantasy series, a solid mainstream novel, and an Appalachian historical novel that may reach epic proportions, and in the planning stages, a nonfiction volume discussing death (yes, I know... but it's not what you think, haha).
So... when do I blog? Well. Hmm.
Every possible moment, I write. If I'm not typing, I'm listening to the voices in my head (plot, outline... staring out the window really is work, because I "see" a lot anyone else might not), and chances are, I'll field a dozen inquiries such as, "If you aren't busy, could you come help me...?" per hour, roughly. I've learned to be honest. "Yes, I was busy, which you already interrupted. If you really need me to help, I will. Then you can help me by trying not to interrupt my process by poking abrupt holes in my ears." I grin, get them sorted out, and more or less hang up an amiable Disturb at Your Own Risk sign. (The sign is non negotiable, after one recognized interruption, alas.)
One mid-list author told me she'd be lucky to turn out 750 words a day when she's working. NaNoWriMo authors aim for 50,000 words in a finished novel during November each year. Most authors try for 1,000 words per working day. I'm different, enough that I've been called freakish.
My first (fun) novel was in rough draft within 3 weeks: 63,000 words. The next in the series was done inside a month, and I dawdled (busy... other responsibilities) to finish the third in 6 weeks. All in that series range between 62,000 and 65,000 words (fantasy expectations vary from, say, mainstream in regards to word count). The book I'm writing now will be in the range of 85,000 to 90,000 words. The "epic" historical, I fully expect to exceed 120,000. I routinely write 2,000 to 4,000 words per day; once, I spilled out 7,500, but it crashed my occasional chronic fatigue into hyperdrive.
Some days, I spend editing. All I ask is "more than 1,000 words." The imagination does the rest, and I'm along for the ride.
Ah, blogging. With no reliable web access, sometimes no more than a cell phone as hotspot, my resources are limited. The laptop I'm using at present is a Mac, the first one I've ever used. It's a circus, sometimes. The blogs can't be kept up like a Facebook feed, sadly, and Facebook has its limits.
When opportunities permit, I may resume blogging again. For now, the voices in my head have exceeded their monthly allowance and are grounded for the present. That's what the budget allows: health, money, time. Plodding onward, telling stories that free my mind. It's a new hobby, but until it pays the bills, that's what it will remain.
Blog or no blog, there's no stopping the creative fountain once it starts flowing. So what if mine is a virtual Niagra Falls? It's the breath of life to me now.