A few months later, our daughter returned home for a time, which was really awesome. Each weekday she and I had lunch together, and there were occasional evening meet-ups with others. My life was really busy, and I was so happy, juggling so much on the tips of my fingers.
Fast forward a few years to a world of competing opportunities, all vying for attention, and a monthly calendar bursting at the seams ... or so it seems. What has tipped the scales so drastically? I am now writing.
Once I began to write a novelized memoir, and to work on another book of poetry, ordinary activities exploded into gigantic and menacing proportion, and that is when I realized that I could not be both a writer AND a juggler.
It's one thing to balance people and activities, but quite another to add writing to the mix. I've been trying to blend oil and vinegar, and sustain it as an emulsion. Continuous, vigorous agitation is an awfully oppressive demand.
At my husband's insistence, and with our resident daughter's backing, my time spent "elsewhere" is now a great deal reduced. I've with only a few thin
strands, of which I am very fond, left to snip away ... and since I can, and for as long as I can, I plan to apply myself in earnest at my writer's table.
And so, here, on the verge on a whole new year, and a lightly penciled in calendar, (which includes the Steampunk Book Signing on January 10th at Caffe Frascati), I wish you all a most fortuitous and a very Happy New Year!