Here’s a photo of me with my head literally in the trees. The clouds would’ve been too easy, too cliched.

I don’t know how writers do it. No, not writing. Writing, for me, is the sometimes overwhelmingly easy thing. But doing all those other things while writing is what I find perplexing. I’ve barely managed to read in the past few months, and even posting something here has proved erratic at best. I feel my world slipping away.

Half of me feels like such a dullard and such a slacker. Thankfully, my delight in writing keeps some of that anxiety in check. I truly love the process and gift of it, and it awes me each minute I devote to it. I, however, still have a ways to go with not panicking in those moments I decide to take a break from it. Like today. Especially knowing that this week also contains Third Thursday, when I get together with another writer and work on more creative projects. This week is devoted to a short story and a translation of a poem.

At least coffee will be drunk regardless of our successes. Success is writing in the first place.