I apologize another frequent absence. I depart my desert paradise here in a few days and head back to North America. The last few weeks have been a flurry of activity and the next few weeks will be more of the same.
I look back on the year and think about the amount of writing I could have done and on the one hand I think I got some things done. I kept a journal of my entire stay, which with a little sprucing up, might make a good book. I all but finished off Pilgrimage. I wrote a handful short stories. And I was able to get a few journal entries. On the other hand, it's been a long year and I haven't written as much as I wanted to. Even putting in 70-75 hour work weeks, I still could have gotten more done than I did. A year went by, that I can't get back, and I was less than productive.
Is that how I should measure it, though? When I was truly hung up and frustrated, being able to get some writing in was what kept me sane. Just escaping into that focused mode prevented me from losing my damn mind.
Other than my fleeting moments of speaking to Mrs. Axe and emailing friends, writing probably saved me. Rad Bradbury once said, "You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you."
I stayed just drunk enough.