First up, Amanda has a new book for pre-order, release is on 18 August. Also, Jean Rabe has graced us with her presence this morning and discussed the advantages of going indie when your story “doesn’t fit” within the preconceived boxes publishers think are what they can market. Go read, and comment. If y’all play nice, she may come back, which would be cool.
This week. Seriously, youse guys, this week. It seems like bad news follows bad news, and everybody is in pain. Friends and family are losing parts of themselves all over (not literally). And I’m stuck over here, not really able to do much but listen, which everybody says is important, but never feels like enough. Fortunately, the Wee Horde are doing well, and it looks like Mrs. Dave may well be home for the rest of the year. Which is better’n the alternatives, all things considered.
On the personal front, I got a mess of work done in the garage over the weekend. It’s … it’s seriously the most amazing thing, to make strides in taming the mess of The Stuff. There’s floor, actual floor, in the garage, now. I mean, there was always floor, but now there’s floor to spare. I am thrilled. And, and, I can walk without stepping over things. Unless the rower is down.
Basically, foundationally, fundamentally, I’m not getting any fiction written. I’m getting interrupted at pretty much every endeavor every five minutes or so. The only way Mrs. Dave and I got anything done the other day (she worked on class stuff, I hit the garage like a spinny wind thingy) was to park the children in front of the screen and let them run it. I regret nothing.
I don’t know, folks. This writing thing is rough, sometimes. I appreciate all the support of my parenting. I really do. And yet, writers write. And I’m not. Maybe I’m just in a genuine hiaitus. As I said, everything is weird, right now, and there’s a lot of things which are less than awesome. Keep at it. I promise I will. I don’t guarantee results.