Tracy Dunham
Where in the name of heaven does it go? The older I get, the more organized I become, the less time comes my way. I swear - it's as if there's a conspiracy to shorten every day, and I'm the one losing minutes. I can't believe it's been a week - A WEEK - since I last posted. Excuses are rife - I've been writing, trying to shovel out the house (which means getting all the rugs up and out to be cleaned, sigh) before winter settles in, working on the garden to get it ready for fall bulbs, clearing out the vegetable patch, etc., etc., etc. I've come to the conclusion that it's a waste of energy to worry about what's not getting done - it'll get done eventually. My daily list can slip into tomorrow's, and the world won't end.

What matters is the writing. And that's going well, thank you very much. Time can be on the side of someone else, as long as the writing is working.