I remember being in about fifth or sixth grade when I first realized that I was reading multiple books at once (and thinking that maybe it wasn't such a good idea.)
A few weeks before Christmas, I thanked a friend for posting a blog interview featuring a writer who was also a busy wife and mother. (You can actually access the article here.) The article was truly encouraging, and my friend’s response was meant to be: he asked if I would be interested in being interviewed myself. There was one problem: me. Once more, I was going to have to confess to someone far more successful that I hadn’t been writing lately and therefore wouldn’t be much of an inspiration. As I clicked send, I hoped my brevity wouldn’t reveal the grumpiness and defeat the offer had unwittingly triggered.