Five Years a Writer

I am retreating. Between mid-December and early January, I shall be tending to the important mat ters of solitude, sleep and self-care (a term I find somewhat nauseating even while valuing the action itself). Though retired from full-time work and deeply privileged with my home & hearth and general well being, I am sick and tired of the state of the world beyond my own four walls. I am sick of politicians and billionaires yammering about one thing while delivering another; sick of commercial enterprises inundating me with ads exhorting me to spend in order to save, to give in order to redeem, and to shop local — but shop nonetheless; and so sick and tired of both real and metaphorical murder & mayhem all around. I want out and away from all that — for a while, at least. I want peace and quiet. Paper and pen. Laptop and tea. Ideas that transform to story. And I want time without obligation and expectation. I no longer work full time, so, of course, I have time. But it’s a matter...