Tempus Fugit

So, here we are at the end of September, and I’ve written all of one thing in the past month. Depression, unseemly heat, and a server deciding to take up an exciting new career as a brick have combined to do a real number on my creativity.

Thank you all for bearing with me through these times of crisis and literary drought. Hopefully October will suck slightly less. Or maybe COVID will come back strong and kill us all. Either way.

In the meantime, here’s one of those little fine distinctions that creeps its way into spacer slang:

topside: In a starship context, on the hull. (An EVA topside is thus distinguished from an EVA outside, which implies leaving the immediate vicinity of the ship.)

– A Star Traveler’s Dictionary

I Appear To Have A Problem With My Brain Being Missing

While that would probably make a decent story title, sad to say, this isn’t one.

As you may have noticed, my output has been down in recent months, and really down this last month in particular.

Why, you ask? Well, because so am I. Which is to say, in despite of medication, my depression is kicking my ass right now. On some days, to the ol’ “been staring at nothing for six hours trying to find motivation to do anything useful” degree. This is, as I hope you can appreciate, somewhat problematic where writing is concerned, inasmuch as my muse appears to have declared this Altogether Too Much Trouble To Deal With and buggered off until the local climate improves.

Why, then, you also ask, am I whining about it to you?

Well, for my loyal Patreon and Liberapay patrons, so you can be aware that this is the situation, that I don’t know when it’s going to improve, and that you may wish to, and should feel entirely free to, suspend or cancel your payments. After all, the deal is money in exchange for value, and since I can’t provide the value right now, I do not wish to take your money. Not until I get my mojo back, anyway.

For the rest of you, because I can. Suck it up.