I'd like to pretend that you noticed that I've been away for the last week. Actually, I do pretend that: in my mind I have a whole cast of readers. They all comment, too. I'm even getting to know some of them.
There's Jim, who'se tall and skinny and writes science fiction. His comments can be snarky, but never, ever when my own post sounds depressed or disheartened. Reading between the lines, his day job must be a menial bore.
There's Eloise, a know it all teen. She's already written 3 adult novels; two have been published. They didn't do well. She shows up here to lord it over the rest of us and forget that she's washed up at 19. We all scavenge her posts for scraps of info about the real literary world.
There's Heather, a housewife in Miami. And Peach, who's teaching on a native reserve. And Edgar, a highly erudite 70 something who I really worry about, because he has Parkinson's and talks alot about death.
sigh.
Anyway, I fell off the blog wagon last week. Big time. Work, volunteer commitments, my yellow lab's operation, kids, house, etc. etc.
Oh, and I finished the play I've worked on for the last six months. Finished. A delicious word.
Don't feel too slighted - I also had tickets to two plays I didn't get to see.
While having a full life means you can't write as much as you'd like, it does give you a great guilt shield at times like this.
And as of today, the wagon's got my weight to carry again. Four pounds less of that, btw. Another thing that kept me busy.
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