I'm hitting one of my periods when writing
seems the least of the things I do. I've got teaching, but mainly,
at this moment, endless tasks and conundrums and relationships within
the South Orange Maplewood Community
Coalition on Race. Chairing this large, vital, wonderful oganization
has been like a half time job. For which I don't get paid. And which
fills computer time, writing time. This week there were committee
meetings, one-on-one meetings, a crisis or two, which always means
many phone calls, many e-mails, plus drafting and mailing letters,
more e-mails, today giving a tour to people in Leadership
New Jersey-- it goes on and on.

I'm working on a YA novel, maybe YA,
and it makes me aware of how much I want to focus on literature again,
and yet at the same time these other things have raised my admiration
for people who are activists, in the world, not just observers of
the world. It makes me see that literature, too, is limited, is one
small part of the world of thinking and acting, not the whole thing.
Balance never easy. Not to mention the drain on family finances from
Our Ivy.