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The post in which I briefly panic

Ugh, this last month has been ridiculous.  I've been tempted moreso than ever before to just end this blog so that I don't have to worry about it anymore.

Between kids, work, chores, projects around the house, and a week-long stomach bug, I've been stuck in a slump.  Not just in my writing, but also for this blog.  It feels like I keep it going just for the two or three people out there who will buy my next book purely on the basis of me announcing its availability here.

Times like these invariably come on the heels of a surge in writing like I was able to accomplish just a couple of months ago.  I guess I'm not surprised by the roller coaster of time management anymore.  Just exhausted.

And when I get exhausted, I start to get morose and pessimistic.  I'll look at my daily traffic and say, "Huh, that's barely anything, why bother."  Or I stare blankly at the empty screen in front of me, wondering what I could possibly say that anybody on social media would care about.

And then I sit red-faced and wonder how I must appear to young, hip snarky types who might stumble across this site and sneer at the amateur construction and lack of a theme.  They know I'm some aging fool who's growing less relevant day by day. Drawing on the cocksure naivete they mistake for charisma, they undoubtedly will jeer and some even post a comment once in awhile to remind me not to bother.

Then I'll look at the pile of laundry behind me that needs to be folded and I'll say, "That would be a better use of my time."  And in practical terms, that's accurate - I've been getting dressed from laundry baskets for weeks on end.

But when I go to that first towel and wrap it in the half/half/third process that's been roboticized into me, I feel more depressed than ever before.  That's when I realize it's not relevance I'm searching for - I've never been cool and I never plan to be.  I'm searching only to keep that tenuous grasp on a dream.  The blog isn't fun and it isn't supposed to be.  It has always been meant as a scorecard for my writing to keep me in check.  It's a tool, a stopwatch, a barometer.  The blog is supposed to kick my ass and tell me to get back to work, not to go do laundry.

So I'll put the rest of the clothes back in the basket and come here again.  I'll apologize for the dip in quality of my posts over the last couple of weeks, the missed post here or there, the typos, the delays.  Somewhere in the resulting rebound, a novel is written, and all is right with the world again.