Here's my thought: I may have too many plates spinning. Not sure, but it's starting to feel that way. I'm busy and more busy with things that really matter to me professionally. But, man, look at those damn plates. Wobbly. That's my thought.
It could just be that my needs as a writer are pushing and elbowing my other literary interests around, bullying them. I hear those needs saying, "Hey, we were here first! We were here compelling you to write stories when you didn't even know that's what you were doing!"
But I knew this time would come, even as I was leaving port to explore the world of editing, publishing, promoting writing from others whose work I admire, etc. Now, what to do? This is the question standing in the center of the room, taking all my attention, because of a recent project deadline I was presented with as a writer.
I have until December 31 to have a polished, entirely publishable book ready for entry into a competition I'd be not unhappy to win. In that single sentence, here in this rectangle of a blog post box, it seems less...well, daunting. But it still is, there's no doubt.
I'm going to keep stretching the blanket in the meantime, but not so much that it rips. Anyone who writes and also branches out to edit or publish or review or promote others understands that his or her pen comes first. If this were not the case, we'd have nothing at all created and all else would become quickly irrelevant.