Tell you a secret. I’ve been writing again.  Yes, I’ve returned to submitting my back catalogue of unpublished stories and poetry….And. Yes. I  have written some new things as well. Nothing too epic. There are no 1000 page sagas completed, but there are a couple of flash fiction things. Why? Because I’m feeling the mojo. A bit. Not that I believe in writerly muses blessing capital A Authors with inspiration as they sit, blank-eyed before creamy pages producing handwritten manuscripts of poetic majesty the like of which the world has hitherto not known. No. I am writing because I feel better about me bothering right now.  I am writing because giving up writing lets the gloomier, poorer, parts of my nature defeat the parts of my nature which lives to create. And while it’s easy not to write, it is also saddening and I’d rather not add sad things to this world’s store this year. I mean, look around…

But also, it’s no biggie. I don’t want to make out that I’ve defeated demons and thus I’ll become a best selling novelist.  I’ve found life, inner demons, outer stressors, and writing don’t work like that.  But while I am feeling that I can write, I will.  If things change again, they will change, but at least I’ve sowed and planted something. [Insert metaphor about harvesting]. Let the seasons happen as they may.

Writers: do not stare into the sphere of introspection

The 2020 writing situation: one poem published, twenty six submissions of short stories, poetry and flash fiction pending acceptance or rejection, in addition to fifteen rejections so far this year.  Plus, occasional things still going up on my mostly kinda anonymous Insta poetry account.