I feel like I'm supposed to apologize to someone, but I, for the life of me, can't figure out who. I've had little to no time available to make any literary progress and I'm really kind of sad about it. Kind of. Last week, I spent what little time I had at bars, clubs, and Phillies games with friends, so it was far from a total waste.
I'm starting to become concerned that I won't find the time to keep writing. The past six months have been spent on finding, focusing, and centering myself and (besides the living arrangements) I'm making decent progress in that direction in spite of my lackluster movement with writing. I think it will be just a temporary thing until I get to where I need to be and not in a constant state of turmoil.
As far as books are concerned, if I ever get someone with a more-than-phone-quality camera to take a damn picture of me, I can at least get T7H into paperback publication. That's seriously all that's holding me up at this point. While I can't stand my own appearance, I feel it adds a necessary personal quality to every book and I'd really like to have a decent author pic on the back cover before I send it off. I think I'll have the short story collection wrapped up sooner rather than later, so there's something to look forward to, anyway.