It's harder than it used to be. Well, and easier too in a way, but mostly harder, because it's been a long time since I started, and I expected more to come of it all. I mean, sure I published a book, which is not a small feat, but that seems so distant now in a strange way. It's hard to remember the time when I was writing Star, because I have all of this other work that is consuming me now.

That, and a very small and needy human.

I've heard it said that, "Nothing will make you feel better but doing the work." Which I agree with, of course, but for someone as impatient as I am, writing a book, or several books, feels so hard and lonely sometimes. My colleagues are my characters. And they're unapologetic and selfish most of the time. I feel better having done the work of course, but often wonder if the work is anything but words on my screen.

Writing books is not for the faint of heart. Neither of course, is medicine, or law, or engineering, or accounting, or any of the other occupations we humans have drummed up but I am a writer so I'll allow myself to feel equal parts grateful and frustrated with this path I have chosen and has just as decisively, chosen me.

It's the worst thing in the world, but it's really the best, too. And now that I've reached that conclusion, I suppose there is nothing else to do but slog on.