The past week, admittedly, got a little hectic. For one, I was finishing off and shipping out several large orders of chapbooks and back orders, that made my studio time even more valuable, which meant while I was there, I needed every second for assembly and none for poeming. In the library, last weekend was busy with the colloquium (Saturday) and subsequent mental recovery (Sunday) and it spun into a week with the paper flower workshop and public domainia marathon, and in general, just a lot of boring ILL business that needs immediate attention. I was tired when I got home, heck, sometimes when I got up, and the week escaped me and aside from monday, The creative bandwidth just wasn't there. I wrote not a single piece. I did manage to submit some HH. Holmes poems near the end of the week, and published some pieces in the new issue of Radar. But that was about it.
Yesterday, I was musing that I could, in fact, write a bunch and catch up, but then decided there was really no need. I did take great pride in finishing it out last year, and granted the routines I set led to a whole bunch of work generated throughout the rest of the year. But I realize that daily writing is something I know I can still do even when I'm not, at least now, and unlike other years when I failed, it's totally okay. I'll pick back up again on Monday. Or Tuesday. Or eventually. Admittedly, barring last year's 30, even making it to 15 was a success (I usually lose it about 10).
