Provincetown

We got back from Provincetown last night, ate Duccini's pizza, read through some wedding RSVPs, and went to bed. It's 6:34 a.m., and time to rediscover the gym.
It's also time to see if, once again, I can hold on to the powerful creative wellspring that Provincetown always seems to connect me with. And time to wonder, once again, how best to take the writing insistence and translate it into everyday life.
It's a question many struggle with, and a lucky struggle to have, but I do still wonder:
How, day-to-day, do I choose writing over other things?
I'm getting married, and the to-do list seems neverending, constantly crowding my mind. I'm busy and engaged at work (blessed be!) writing stories about animals, people, and projects from around the world. I have a partner I absolutely adore, a ready family, a cacophony of friends. I have twenty extra pounds on my frame.
And I have these characters and places and conflicts pushing against my brain.
Today, I will take "Nina" (the newest member of "the British women" cast) to work with me. Try to steal time at lunch.
But that's the problem isn't it? Stealing time.
Why do I feel unable to make time instead of steal it? When does -- How does -- the writer win out?