Outside it's sunny and breezy; the northwestern edge of Tropical Storm Cindy is brushing by us with long, thin fingers of clouds. Everyone has battened down the hatches in the area, still shell-shocked after last August's flood caught us all by surprise. A lot of people are sitting on hills of sandbags with bated breath this morning. So far, so good though; some bluster and about a quarter inch of rain. We'll see.
Unfortunately, the weather is just bad enough to prevent the lighting of the midsummer fires. I've been piling them up in anticipation, but that will just have to wait, I suppose.
I'm struggling at the moment, writing-wise. I have several projects in progress, including that elusive novel, but, even after all these years, rejection still hits me hard. It's tough to watch authors whom I know have only been writing for only a couple of years rocket past me in terms of success and not get discouraged. Lately it feels like I'm mostly speaking to an empty room. Some days I work up the courage to face the blank screen, and others I don't. I know it's another failing on my part--not having faith in yourself is one of those things all the writing advice books declare a cardinal sin. But I'm getting older, and no one cares what I have to say anyway. Makes it tough to summon the effort.