Adam and family left promptly on Jan 1, and I spent the next two days being a slug, slowly getting the house back to pre-holidays semi-neatness, reading, watching tv, but not otherwise doing much. I think I was wrapping my head around the new year. I had made no resolutions, just carrying on carrying on. But something in the back of the lizard brain must have been working because after a lovely brunch on Friday at Rabbi Yechiel Landers and his lovely wife Rose’s house, I began to sort through writing priorities.

By Sunday I worked on an essay, some titivating of old poems, and stumbled back into the GIRL’S BIBLE by reading (and re-reading) to get myself up to speed.

Sometimes the writer-brain goes into a kind of stasis, like a mini-hibernation. Never for very long. But even a couple of days can be worrisome. There is always the thought: Is this the day/week/year I lose it entirely? Because honestly, it sometimes seems as if the gift I have–big or little, take your choice–is on loan. Like a magic trick that may not work. Or a piece of machinery likely to rust out. Any metaphor will do. I am not actually afraid of it happening, my friends. If my writer-brain stops for good, I will have had more than an excellent run of it. I will have had a passionate eternity in comparison to some folks. OK–most folks. But the question that I fight with is this: What on earth will I do if/when that happens? After all, it has been my life–stories, poems spilling out of me since I was a child.

Yeah–I could just read. Lay about in a hammock or on the couch, eat bon-bons and. . .

Nah. Not me. I’d probably teach a lot. . .I mean a LOT of seminars, master classes, set up my house here for intensive weekend workshops. There’s room for six or seven people to stay over at a time. More if they are married or partnered. Such workshops would keep me busy, brain-sharpened. Maybe sign up as a scout for several agents. Read mss. Pester my daughter, my friends.

So that’s my Master Plan. Suggestions, petitions, petty carps all invited.