About three weeks ago I said I was going to give an account of my writing life as it exists at this time, and left my few readers know what was going on. Several other posts got in the way, as did life. Finally, I’m here to do what I said I would.

Alas, there’s not much to tell. I’m barely writing. If my count is correct, I have seven works-in-progress, in various stages of completion, all waiting patiently for me to get back to them and finish what I started. So why don’t I do so? Pick the one farthest along, write the end part, and publish it. Then take the next one and do the same. Or, perhaps take the work that appears to offer the least path of resistance and just apply myself and get it done.

Again alas, I find it harder and harder to apply the gray cells and the energy needed to fuel them to writing tasks when I have other things to be done. At this time my mother-in-law lives with us. She’s 91, and is slowly starting to fail. She doesn’t need the level of care a nursing home requires, but she can’t live by herself. For the moment my wife can’t fill the role of care-giver to her mom, so I have to. Not intimate stuff such as washing and personal care, but things like making sure her medicines are in order, helping her to manage her diabetes, making sure she eats right, seeing that she has money, taking care of her mail. It’s not a huge time consumer, but it’s something that must be done, by me.

Then there are the projects around the house.  Recovering our backyard from the encroaching forest took much of the winter and spring. After that it was working on the front yard, neglected while I concentrated on the back (which actually still isn’t done, but is in a tolerable state). Part of that was working on a proposed flower bed. That was a lot of physical work, and still isn’t done, as I await one decision on how to do it. I want it ready for planting in the spring, so I really, really, really want to get it done.

Then there was the new kitchen floor preceded by removal of wallpaper and painting therein, then rearranging kitchen things, then the large window in the bathroom that broke. And, I must not forget the electrical repairs, or installing build-in shelves in the basement—merely utility shelves, but still taking energy that included trips to the hardware store. All of these required finding a service provider, obtaining a quote, and supervising the work—or in some cases figuring out how to do it myself.. All consuming gray cells and energy. My current project, related to the kitchen work, is almost complete: a two-level shelf unit on wheels custom made for our pantry. I varnished it yesterday, and have only to add the handles, put it in place, and figure out what goes on it. Then our “things” will be off the floor, and we can pull the shelf forward for easier access.

So where does that leave me in terms of works-in-progress, or, what am I writing right now? I recently had a bad day with knee pain. Actually it came on in the evening. I took a pain pill, and instead of reading, I decided to write, in manuscript. I wrote the first 600 or 700 words in a new short story, “Hotel Whiskey Papa”, the next in my Sharon Williams Fonseca unconventional C.I.A. agent series. Why? I’m not sure. That story has been gestating for a long time. I had the opening scene clearly in my mind, so I wrote it to free up space for other things. Whether I finish it soon or not I don’t know. So that leaves me with eight works-in-progress. Or, I suppose you could say nine if you count the Bible study I’m preparing for our Life Group.

As far as book length works, nada. Volume 2 of The Gutter Chronicles remains midway through the fourth chapter (out of 15). Preserve the Revelation remains dead after one chapter. Documenting America: Civil War Edition remains quiet at about 40 percent complete. My two Thomas Carlyle works are further along than all of these. I work a little on one of them, not at all on the other. I still have much interest in them, and perhaps I’ll take some time before the end of the year to get one or both of them further along. And my next family history book, John Cheney of Newbury is stalled after one chapter. This is because I that one chapter (out of 11) ran to 70 pages before I came to the degree of completion I wanted. When I realized the enormity of the task, I decided to back off.

But I do have a few publishing tasks to do soon, if not new writing. I want to publish my two baseball novels as print books. Today I talked with the cover designer, and he said he could work on them right away. So now I’ll have to scramble to format them for print, decide on back cover copy, etc. That will all feel good. Then, it turns out the covers of several of my e-books have been declared to be an unacceptable size by Smashwords, based on what the sellers they distribute to require. So I’ll have to try to modify those covers—for size only—and upload them. I don’t think that will be too difficult.

So, I haven’t exactly laid down my pen yet. The inkwell is almost dry, and my paper is mainly white, but I’m still marginally in the game.