I have started and restarted this blog post many times in the past few days, mostly because I am determined not to let this area of my writing languish.
My goal has been to write one post per month. That rather modest deadline is a struggle now.
Writing about not writing feels like the lowest rung.
It’s not for a lack of ideas. One of my aborted posts was about what to keep and what to throw away in 2020. (You’re welcome if you’re now singing that old Kenny Rogers song, The Gambler.)
One of the main things I would throw away? My hair, which appears to be falling out. When you combine that unfortunate event with the fact that I make dinner for the family every night, well, then you get hair tacos.
The bright-as-the-sun part of all this is that I have begun work on a new novel. I write and I write. It feels obsessive and wonderful, an experience that often eludes me as a writer.
The daily, rigorous, word-count goals I’ve set are in terrible conflict with full-time employment and childcare.
In time, these blog posts will become longer and more engaging.
Until then, I leave you, stressed and overwhelmed — creative and balding.
