It’s not that I am not productive and active and such in my life. Not as though I fail to have meaningful contributions. I’d like to think I lead an existence that’s not particularly slothful—but my own ability to do as much as I would want in any given day bugs me to no end.
For instance, sure, you know of the one book I’ve written—I’d hope—but I’ve actually written somewhere in the ballpark of 20-25 novels/novellas in just two years’ time. But my editing skills and my speed at it are so slow, and I can’t seem to get a good schedule going, that there’s only one book you know about right now. Continue reading