Writing; or, the Elephant in the Room
I just wrote a letter to Peter Straub, in which I addressed this issue, and I decided to print that part here (I'll even fix more typos for you guys):
Finally, since my personal fortunes this way affect you, I thought I'd
tell you the good and bad about how my writing is going. The bottom line
is that I'll probably accomplish some things before the next ICFA that I
really was determined to do before this one--mainly finally send out many
conference papers for publication and work on a book about your
writings--but I'm making progress.
This past year the economy affected the academy where I teach, and I
finally went from more work than I often like to not enough work. That's
swinging up again now, which is good. However, I finally had time to
write, so I had to face how many problems I had around it. I actually
think that I mostly wrote in a semi-fugue state, in which worries about
not being good enough, and almost all the usual blocks to writing, were
just shoved away by the looming deadline.
For the past six months or so I've worked on integrating writing into my
everyday life, and I've been making progress. Work is still a huge
competitor, but I do think it's manageable as I wrestle with these other
issues. (And that wrestling has included a few argument as I've growled at
the guys over my need to be uninterrupted, which is changing the household
rhythm in some ways, but they endorse my goal and they're great guys.)
It's about as hard and slow as working on healthy eating, harder than
working on keeping a tidy and organized house, but probably easier than
working on exercise (which I still do with YogaJane but still don't on my
So someone wants to do a book on you, and it's held up by her own
neurosis. Well, at least I'm making foundational progress.
Anyway, now you know.