I'm still wrestling with big things. My head throbs from the over-thinking and over-analysis and over-worrying about the state of my writerliness, the state of my author interviews (which should have been more plentiful this past week but I'm, well, over-thinking things and so obviously my questions were so bizarre and over-wrought that I had to self-edit and simply say no), the state of my daily gig (which is also in terrible flux and so I find I'm simply fretting, fretting all day long and don't know what, really, to do) and the state of so many other things. Got that? Fretting over many things (some of which have absolutely nothing to do with me) +/- throbbing head = wrestling.
But:
- I managed to get through 3,000+ (yes, that's right) Google Reader posts
- I managed to get through 1,200+ emails
- I apologize to all those who were in town in December and January that emailed about getting together. I regret that I failed to respond to you because, damn, I would really have liked to meet with you and chat with you and talk books. And life. And other things.
- Full disclosure: I am studying up for my Wine Novice column over at LAist and I've not read a speck (a speck!) of new fiction so far this year. I'm feeling a little guilty about this, but also have so much to say about my voracious wine reading. Robert Parker Jr., watch out!
- I talked a big game last year about upcoming roundtables. I fully intend to get to them and to those of you who emailed about roundtable topics, I'll chat you up soon. Really.
- I still owe several Part IIs, a few Part IIIs, and even a few Part I's of readings I failed to get to. All in good time. Maybe.
- I've felt, lately, that this whole blog concept might need revamping, revising, revisiting, re-something. I try very hard to share something different, something no one else is covering or at least not covering in quite the same way. If I ever feel (as I have these past weeks) that I'm just giving you more of what you could get elsewhere, I'll go silent again. I think. Still working through it, but in my endless over-thinking, I've at least sorted out one thing: I want what I do (everything I do) to matter. I know, simpleton-esque and naive. But there it is. From my day job to my writing to my writing about writing, I want the work to matter. Otherwise, why the hell else are we here?
- And so, this concludes the long, annual, house-keeping rant about what needs doing, what's brewing and what's on the horizon.
And back into the fray we go...
