On writing today

In short, I didn’t.

I’m concerned how to keep up with my research while living in the shelter. I still have a stack of books from the library to get through, and a chapbook to finish editing, not to mention the novel. The damned novel. The goddamned novel. There, that feels better.

Writing a novel has got to be one of the most miserable fucking things a writer does.

Well, that and writing bios.

The thing about the shelter is, I do all of my best work in the mornings (when no one is around) and at night (when everyone is asleep). Now, our mornings will be spent schlepping through the rain to find a place to change our undies, and at night we will be in a big room full of mattresses on the floor and lots of other people likely trying to sleep.

When the hell am I going to read and write? Beyond the well being of my child and partner, that is my main concern.

Ah well. Goodbye, dear fabulously decorated closet.

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