Where am I? Writing has not been a thing really this month, neither with the Catbirds or DOAB. Why? Because of busy-ness, yes, but is that all? Well, yes. Maybe it just is. I haven’t been willing to struggle, and it is a struggle to work it in. I don’t know what it is. I have been reading more. Maybe it is just a necessary lying fallow-ness, and I am allowed to trust it. I know how to follow the thread of what I am supposed to be doing, and it is just not what I am supposed to be…

It pays to visit them though, to hold their hands. Should I join a writer’s group? Should I take this one lady’s class? Should I change the name? What I am actually avoiding is actually writing, though there are a ton of other figure-it-out kinds of things that I am avoiding too. I would like to remember the feeling of flying to New York: the way in which it was terrifying made it also exhilarating, and I remember thinking: I need more of this feeling in my life. Things that make me feel that way: to go to the writer’s…