Okay. I confess. I committed the cardinal sin of blogging. I let my blog languish and fall into disuse. A lot of life happened during that gap. I moved halfway across the country. Again. I started a job, completed a bootcamp, started another job, and wrote a few things. I was busy.
Then the pandemic happened, and busyness became a coping mechanism.
Nope! Sorry. Can’t pay attention to the world today. I’m too busy!
I am the least graceful person I know. I have a tendency to fall on my face—figuratively, mostly, but sometimes literally. I can also be a bit… impulsive, making quick decisions without knowing what I’m doing.
Like when I decided I was going to become a writer. I had the writing part down. I put in four hours every night, I workshopped it, I edited it… and that was about as far as I got. I had no idea what to do next.
What does a writer do, besides read and write?
A little over a year ago I mentioned that I was going to refocus on my writing and use it as a tool to find meaning in a life that was radically changed. It was pure coincidence that I made this decision around the same time I noticed Richard Thomas—author of both Transubstantiate , and Disintegration, editor of The New Black and Exigencies, and Editor-in-Chief of Gamut Magazine—was teaching a short story class over at LitReactor.
