One thing I have going for me on my writing journey is that I openly embrace the various interruptions I experience as simply a part of life—besides, I’m pretty much powerless to stop them. I can’t remember the last day that passed without at least one unexpected twist & turn taking a toll on my designated writing time—or rather rewriting time since I’m still neck-deep in updating a novel that was gathering dust after I self-published a spinoff a couple years ago.
But this latest wrinkle tried my patience about as much as it laid waste to any hint of sticking with a schedule. My first bout of covid more than four years after the outbreak has wreaked havoc for almost a month now. (I realize a random reader might take issue with the actual existence of covid for whatever reason they cling to, but no matter what you call the virus I’ve been hosting for a hell of a lot longer than I wish, the truth of the matter is that it kicked my butt hard.)
I won’t go into detail about the symptoms, except to say the pure exhaustion & extensive brain fog made any extra writing time I might’ve enjoyed while recuperating a complete joke. Fortunately, at the onset of my fever I had the foresight to refrain from trying to post on this blog & also made a backup of the whole novel before I could start coming up with goofy revisions in-between my all too frequent paroxysms of coughing. Believe me, there was plenty of material to work with after my writing chops eventually came straggling back home a few days ago.
So here I am, behind schedule by more than I care to acknowledge, but determined to see my process through to a satisfactory conclusion.
I won’t even take a stab at predicting the launch date of my serialized novel set in the same fictional world as Pearl Fields and the Oregon Meltdown, but when I do click that publish button on Kindle Vella soon enough, I’ll be sure to let you know.
Till next time.
Drew
