Big ifs and other whats

It's six in the morning, time when the marina seals are asleep and their barking doesn't echo in the neighborhood. It's weirdest at night, because I never anticipate it. At least the dogs downstairs ignore it.

Since March sixth when we decided as a family to go into lockdown before everyone else, I have written and published a dark-humored cookbook, learned how to make soap, bake fresh bread, grow sprouts, grow vegetables on my balcony, started a creative incubator, cooked a boatload of meals, interviewed for tons of jobs, landed an extended freelance job, bonded with my family, grieved the loss of my beloved cat, and  published an article.

I've also sent out four dozen query letters regarding a new novel and have so far received twenty-seven "thanks but no thanks," responses. At least I'm taking the silence of ten of them to mean that. I read somewhere that your goal should be to query a hundred of them. I still have a way to go.

Somehow I feel like i haven't accomplished much this year.

I don't know if it's my age or the age we're in, but I feel like since everything is still so up in the air that I should make the most of the time I have before the world opens up again. and we all go back to our old lives