Wasn’t This Supposed to Get Easier?

It’s been quiet around the Skelley Compound, relatively speaking.  Our kids are both out of the house, the dog’s manic episodes have mostly faded away. We should have more time than ever available for writing.

Ha.

We haven’t been able to diagnose the cause, but our writing time has shrunk instead of growing. Somehow it always ends up being pretty much ten p.m. by the time we settle in at our desks in the Writing Cave. Which would be fine, if certain of us didn’t have to be out of bed at oh-shit-thirty the next a.m.

At least we’re still writing every day, so it’s not as bad as it could be. We’re just not writing as much as we should be every day.

We blame the dog. (We always blame the dog. I mean, look at this beast, isn’t that the face of someone who means us all harm?)