Work In Progress
Or any other handy excuse
I made an astonishing discovery this week. Astonishing to me anyway. My book of essays written during the pandemic “Plague Year New York: 2020” is available in paperback online from Barnes & Noble.
Baby, I have arrived!
And, yes, before you even ask I did in fact buy a copy of my own book from Barnes & Noble. I paid $14.99 plus tax and picked up a cool $4.18 in royalties. Do I have it going on or what?!
After several recent hard hauls that included hiring a professional editor and doing yet another full bore re-write of Graceless, I’ve hit a wall. I suppose I could whine about writer’s block but I suspect the real issue is straight up laziness. I know very well how to write even if I don’t feel like it. Butt in seat and get to it.
I’m simply not doing that now.
Moreover, I’m not particularly worried that for the time being my (ahem) writing seems to be limited to the occasional bonbon here and journaling. I believe that putting pen to paper (or digits to keyboard) is only part of what constitutes writing. In my way of looking at this question walking early in the morning is part…
