I’m still not great about posting blogs regularly. I guess I don’t care as much about blogging as I do about other things, like staring at the wall and wondering about the wrong turns I’ve taken over the years, or reorganizing my jeans, or cleaning things that nobody can see. Perhaps one day, I’ll post enough that my posts will no longer even touch on how infrequently I post.
I’ve submitted a few stories, gotten a rejection, waiting on a couple more. I’ve started potentially writing an audio script. I’ve started a new novel and then backed off of it, only to return and then back off again. I’m back on the book that I’ve been sort of trying to write for almost eleven years. I think I owe it to that book to choose it as the one I must finish first.
So I’m at my desk, looking out at the snow, slightly goofy dog at my feet, writing this post to get me moving on the substantive part of my writer’s life, which is the part that I seem to spend the least amount of time doing.