Too many things in the way of a mood; a barn that needs painting, a job app at Wal-Mart, grapes that need picking and turning to wine. And while they still come, the customers wanting their framing.
So the writing and creative force has dwindled down; bad timing as the reading season opens for short stories and poems. Don’t even find myself peeking back at the latest that still need some editing and rewriting work. I’m guided by seasons of nature; not of the unnatural world of publishing I guess.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology