Writing to say there isn’t much to write about, except that’s not true entirely. There are things to write about. They are works in process, like the rest of life seems to be at the moment. It’s that part of the end of the summer when everyone else seems to be cramming in as much vacation time as they can, and I’m already preparing for a busier autumn. Currently working on negotiations for two book projects, and trying to finance the time I need to finish said projects. Publishing takes a long time when you’re not doing it yourself. Sometimes it takes a long time when doing it yourself as well. I announced a project I was publishing a couple of months ago, and it’s still awaiting a final edit and formatting pass, thanks to various Life that got in my way.
How patient can I expect everyone else to be with me when I’m not patient with myself? Some days I get very frustrated at how long it takes me to get to the things I want to do. Sometimes I also realize how many other bits of necessary work I must contend with, being the only person who takes care of myself, and I cut myself some slack. Today is much higher on the frustration at myself scale than the being realistic with myself scale. Good thing that tomorrow is another day to try again.