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Blogging is something I force myself to do a couple of times a week. It used to be a majority of my posts were a peer into my life or backward walk through personal history. Now I tend to blab about storytelling, or offer an occasional rant on some current event that snaps at my derriere like a wound up and wet bath towel, one carrying sufficient bite such that the welt it raised prods me into carving out blog writing.

The reason for my reticence is not a lack of love for writing out such posts; it is my mind set to run within the context of writing stories of book length, novel works in the molten stage, before they harden and set in place. Over a half year I’ve got one novel through first edit (coming in at just a hair over 90,000 words), and a second in the entering stage, working off a paper draft, a fourth of it now digital. My plan is a switch back to second edit on the first with the month change, work that through again, and then swap back for more second novel entry. As you might expect, it is hard enough to keep that schedule and the story content square in my head, with the stories sorted and not comingled, never mind the added confusion of throwing regular random blog posts into my writing cauldron.

Returning in blog time to say, my approach of five years ago, back when creative writing was not even a seedling in my mind field, tonight I will toss out a summary update of my personal doings.

I have been home since 15 March, and my subsequent job search yielded not a thing close to promising. I had to think of alternatives, and swapped tracks to a school one. Now I work within a programme designed to bring willing and approved participants up to speed in some medical profession, of my choosing. My initial plan was medical coding, but others thought the counselling track would be a good one. Since I carry a conviction, my ability to receive a license is uncertain, and efforts by those who run the programme, me, as well as my therapist, failed to get the overseeing board to give a preliminary opinion on whether it would stand in my way. I cannot take this chance, walking through 2 years of school only to have them turn me around at the license gate; it would be unfair to those who pay for my education, and a waste of my time. At almost 57 and needing income, time matters. Therefore, I intend to follow non-licensed paths, either medical coding or health unit coordinator training.

Concurrently, I am now a volunteer at Planned Parenthood, with formal training slated to begin Monday. I look forward to being of assistance to those who seek their counsel. I rather like the idea of this, of me giving something of myself to an organisation and services this feminist believes in heart and soul, helping its clientele.

And on my personal track, I write, with aspirations and dreams of publishing novels one day. If not to be, at least my children will have some dusty old files what give some insight into the Byzantine plumbworks of my haphazardly wired mind.

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