Is coming to a close in a few short hours and I have failed. Miserably. But I did write. I’ve written more this month than I have all year. It’s different now than it was and I’m a little, ok, a lot, sad about that. I miss having someone pester me about what I’m working on or how much I got done. Even when I wanted to yell at him for being pestery, I was always glad my Dad cared enough to pester. He was my biggest support, my cheerleader, my first reader, my editor, and my fact checker. I know I have had friends tell me that I’m a fount of useless knowledge but if I’m a fount, he was a river. Writing isn’t the same now.
I’ll get back to normal eventually but apparently not this year.