Checking In

photo credit: Alexas_Fotos from Pixabay

Future Raine is gonna be so miffed when she discovers I took thirty minutes to write this. She’s focused on polishing a manuscript that her editor is expecting by Thursday of next week. While I believe there is time to reconnect with Substack, FR will disagree. I’ll deal with her later.

(clears cobwebs, shrieks when one lands on face)

First, a large thank you to those who left comments on my last post. (I almost wrote “most recent”. July isn’t terribly recent.) I have every intention of sharing the results of this very unscientific survey but it, like virtually all other Substack engagement is on a temporary hold. (Although, if you haven’t commented but want to get in on the not-science, there’s still time. Win-win.)

Also, another large thank you to those who have subscribed since my last not-recent post even though it’s been crickets since. I’ll endeavor to be worthy of your trust. Later.

A week from today—insert favorite bet-hedging bromide here—this household will conduct last minute preparations before relinquishing our first and only-born to Virginia Woolfe’s alma mater.

It’s been a long, challenging wait which at first felt interminable, then luxurious. Plenty of wot nots to fill the time, though; student visas aren’t granted overnight, par example. But all a sudden, months became weeks and then, don’t ask me how…something to do with the earth’s rotation or something…it’s down to days.

I’m not freaking out because I pure can’t be arsed. The last many weeks have been absorbed either by tweaking a manuscript or doing UK-related stuff, including all the necessary domestic arrangements required, while still somewhat commanding the quotidian business of life. In over a month, I’ve not given Substack more than a cursory glance nor have I promoted my book. (My debut novel, Where We Come Home, is a cozy, satisfying read, perfect for those moments when you need a little medicine to cope with the insanity of the world. (Or so people have told me.) Available wherever books are sold. Phew. Admin Raine will be very pleased.)

We had a going away party a couple weeks ago. Amid sharing flight info and gushing over our itinerary, a friend asked how I was coping with the whole launching-my-kid thing. She added a supportive pat of the shoulder, implying the availability of a neck to weep upon if required. Bless those sorts of moms. But I answered, quite truthfully, I wasn’t feeling anything in that regard at the mo. There’s too much else competing for attention.

Sure, it’s coming. Have ya met me? Blubbering mess events are guaranteed and the emotional forecast for the latter part of September is partly cloudy. But when not emotionally wobbly—and I’m not right this minute—there is plenty demanding attention. And I should crack on or Future Raine will have something to say about it.

Hope everyone is well. Regular programming will resume when it’s officially autumn.

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