The following is a rant. I'm in a pretty sour mood...
Just thought I'd mention that you might not see much output from me for a while. There's just too much for me to concentrate on to doing any writing, so several sequels and new stories I have percolating in my head just won't come out. I bring up the third and final Ka-Pawli story and just stare at it. A new story I was doing for fun just doesn't want to work, even though I have it completely thought out. My last story, in a fit of typing got banged out in about 2 hours. Everything else has just kind of dried up. I'm not having trouble yet in prepping some older stories for publishing.
There are several reasons I guess. This week my brother's house gets foreclosed on. There wasn't anything realistically I could have done to stop that. I really wanted to sell it. Not to make money on it -- it was priced at break even. I just wanted to do right by my brother. I waited too long to put it on the market. The house is still full of stuff, mostly furniture. Last weekend, I stood in the house for the last time. If my youngest son hadn't come with me, I probably would have collapsed to the floor and cried. I tried to get as many photos and other personal items as well as his electronics out of the house. There were a couple of pairs of his glasses that he left on his desk his last day in that house. I couldn't bring myself to take them. All in all, I feel I've failed my brother and have been a pretty lousy representative of his estate.
Work continues to bedevil me. I had my interview for the other job back in July and have yet to hear from them. I asked about it, and was told they're still interviewing for the position. That was middle of August. And while some may actually enjoy my current job, it's just not anything I'm interested in, but I'm working for a couple of morons. No. Seriously. My job went from finding problems and providing solutions, saving the company both time and money to figuring out why Susie's password is locked. When I get home, I feel my day has been a total waste.
Another point of depression is that in two weeks, I hit 60. Up until now, I always felt I had time to do things. Get fit and get rid of certain body parts, to seeing the world, etc. Now I don't. While I'm not incapacitated or yelling at kids to get off my lawn yet, I do feel my best years are way behind me. The only bright spot is getting published, which I've been wanting since high school. (I wish I could find this one story I wrote for English class in high school. It still has one of my favorite endings...)
There's also the lawyer I have to deal with on my brother's estate. Trying to find a place to store what I salvaged. Trying to make ends meet. Trying to keep my kids happy and fed. That's not all, but I've spent too much time on this as it is.
So forgive the rant. I seem to have to be either pissed or happy to write and right now I'm more like, do I really have to get out of bed?