Readers familiar with the late, and wonderful, Terry Pratchett, will no doubt recognise this post title. Perhaps I should scribble such a sign and hang it in a prominent place on my website and blog, or even around my neck like Granny Weatherwax, as I am most definitely not dead at all. I am, however, exceedingly and impossibly busy, which of course means that I am also spending far too much time “pro-caffeinating” – that heady mix of procrastinating while over-dosing on too much strong coffee.

My to-do list last week ended up covering a huge number of varied projects, some of which I hadn’t even had on my radar until they arrived in my head.

• I have put together and offered up a brand new writer’s group and workshop for women (Wild Women, Wild Voices, starting in May2019) as well as applying for council funding for said group. The rather brilliant Stella at Geographic Hearts will be helping me with this.
• I wrote two new poems and entered one in an NZ poetry competition (Poems In the Waiting Room).
• I wrote an article for the New Zealand Book Council exploring writing and mental health. (I will share that soon.)
• I planned a comic book writing lesson to teach to young kids in my local area.
• I had an awesome interview with fellow horror and speculative fiction writer Penny Jones, which I am super excited about sharing with you when it’s ready.
• I even came up with a cathartic writing tool/app idea.

I am proud of all these achievements, although I am also pretty angry with myself. I lose focus, so quickly and so easily. I jump on to the next thing, and the next thing, and the next thing. I still need to make final edits on my debut anthology, and wow it is hard. I have lost all confidence in myself a hundred times over, only to rediscover it again the next day and cry; “once more unto the breach!”

I’m basically just muddling through, and hoping that whatever I create will be at least reasonably well-received. This is all new. I relish the many challenges I am encountering, but also I find no shame in admitting that they truly are a challenge. I admire absolutely anyone who can make this their “day job” and succeed.

Some days words flow like beautiful, crystal rivers onto the page, curling and twisting into glorious sentences.
Other times I try to write a description, and the best I can manage is, “the tree was very big, and made of wood.”