Hic Vigilans Somniat

Last night, with Kim and brother-in-law Nick’s assistance, we finally got Connor’s bedroom prepped for drywall. This means the project which has all but consumed us since December is at long last near its end point. Yes, there’s still the business of hanging the drywall, finishing the drywall, painting, doorhanging, and walltrimming… but that light at the end of the tunnel, well, I’ve just bloody caught a glimpse of it.


For whatever reason, I have not been writing much of late. And by much I mean virtually none. The desire is there. There’s just so much going on, and I’ve such peculiar writing habits and rituals, that it is simply a matter of the world is unrighted and thus the words shall not come because there’s no time for them.

Not now. But soon.

Although I’ve written little, I have actually been giving my career (if you wish to call it that… I used to, because I believed it, but now I’m less sure) a lot of thought. As in, what do I now wish to accomplish.

I’ve been published many times over. Sometimes good. Sometimes bad. More often bad. My work has largely been praised. Sometimes, but not often, a piece has been regarded as less than adequate. But rare. Overall, people, at least in my circles, tend to like what I scribble on about.

nuapThere was a time when being published meant the world; when praise and acknowledgement mattered to me.

Now, I have to reevaluate what I’m doing. What am I bloody doing? Why am I doing it?

Essentially, I am no longer the green of spring and summer has long since gone. I have become autumn and if I am to continue in this world, I must define my place in it.

I have stories to tell and less time to tell them in.

I need to kill the dreamer before the dream itself is dead.


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