stockvault-self-portrait102722With my self-imposed April deadline for The Hushing Days fast approaching, several realizations have occurred.

1.) It ain’t happening. The deadline, that is. Or rather, the deadline will indeed happen. It will fly merrily by without a glance at furiously working author, furiously furry muse or emphatically “Not Done!” novel. It is the hoped-for “The End” that will not be happening.

2.) I should be vexed about this. I’m not. In fact, I plan to wave cheerily at the deadline as it scurries on by. I’d even offer it a crumpet if I didn’t fear Frank (my specter of imminent failure) might pop out of whatever hidey-hole he’s been claiming as home these days at the mention of his favorite munchie.

3.) This non-vexed stance of mine means I’m either resigned to failure (clearly not, since I haven’t seen Franky-boy in months), crazy (which I am, psychiatrist-tested and all, but not about this) or confident. I don’t do confident. I might talk a good game at times but inside I’m just a trembling little nut scared of her own almond-scented shadow.

4.) Perhaps, just perhaps, and definitely without that c-word coming into it, I simply know that May holds that checkered flag. Call it a gut feeling. Just please don’t call it confidence.

5.) This blog was utterly pointless, I’m afraid. And I really should apologize for it, but I don’t think I will. Hmm… I wonder if that’s the c-word talking?  Nah, can’t be.

Until tomorrow…



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