And let me speak to the yet unknowing world, how it is very easy not to write.

Let me speak to the yet unknowing world, how it is very easy not to write. In fact, the time to write is always out of joint. There are endless distractions, so much to watch and read. There are chores, and work, daily tasks, things to do, conversations to be had, meals to make. Illness to be endured. Obligations. Things pile up, until I notice I have forgone all custom of writing exercises. In short, because of life. Though, I have of late learned, or perhaps, am still learning, to forgive life.

I am learning to accept that writing will be there when I can return to it. Yesterday, for the first time in awhile, I set myself down at the laptop, found some pieces, polished them and sent some out. Today, one of these pieces was accepted. It seems if I accept that I can write and submit when I can, there are editors out in the world who will publish my work when they can. For this, I am most grateful. And, as Hamlet, the great delayer says: the readiness is all.

It’s not like I haven’t opportunity to attempt to write, but each attempt at something new remains incomplete. Again, I won’t berate myself overmuch. But as I unpack my heart with words here, I know things will develop in their time. For all the deadlines I may miss, there will be others I will meet. This, it seems, is the shape of my success, rough hewn as it is.  I embrace my fortune.

Anyway, since brevity is the soul of wit, I will be brief, as weekend duties call me away. Thus, fare thee well at once, it’s not quite the time when the glow-worm shows the matin to be near, and ‘gins to pale his ineffectual fire but adieu, adieu, til next time*.

*I make no apologies for the extensive Hamlet quotes.