I blew my supposed "back to writing" deadline last week, and aside from moderate feelings of guilt that I'd let people down, nothing happened. Nobody complained, and in all likelihood, nobody even noticed. This site has had one view this week, from somebody in Australia who was searching for "help I turned into a" (something surprising, I'll bet, since they got Chapter 7 with the tentacle monster). So not a peep of discontent because nobody's really paying attention, anyway. Honestly, that's disappointing, but not really a surprise, either. Since I've started posting here, I've had one actual comment.
But then, a novel doesn't necessarily lend itself to this format, does it? You can't just jump in at the middle, and so you have to find Chapter One, and then read all this stuff at your computer screen or phone or whatever. Nobody's ever heard of me; why take the chance on this guy? It may be disappointing that I'm not the next Neil Gaiman overnight, but it's hardly a surprise. Neil worked his ass off to get where he is today: he didn't start off being Neil Gaiman. No, he wrote because he loved it and it was a job and he loved it and he couldn't stop even if he tried.
I haven't got the "job" piece yet, but I do love it. Writing has been with me since I was a little kid; it's never going to let go. But I've got other stuff going on in my life, other things I want to work hard at, and only so many hours in the day. If I've learned anything since becoming a parent, it's that life is a balancing act. I'm balancing.
I'm absolutely still going to be posting here. Jaspar and friends will someday come to the end of their journeys. And I'm even going to try to put new stuff up on Wednesdays.
But I'm doing it for myself, in my own time, and I'm leaving the guilt behind.