Hello, friends. Still here. I’ve started to write this newsletter any number of times in the last couple of months, but something always drags me away. Sitting here now, my working title still reads “April Newsletter” along the top of the page. I’m no longer surprised by time moving quickly. We may not be done with the pandemic, but gone are those weird endless days we experienced in 2020. What I have noticed, however, is this year feels particularly… full. Jam-packed, even. Along with my normal routine, I’ve found there’s a lot vying for my attention. On the writers’ front, we have the insane, escalating book bans, the numerous layoffs of journalists, and now the WGA strike for screenwriters. Then there’s the rise of AI, something I know I need to understand better, but for which I have very limited mental bandwidth and absolutely no time. Never mind tracking the broader political landscape and ramping up of the electoral cycle. (Didn’t we just do this?)
Limbo Year
Limbo Year
Limbo Year
Hello, friends. Still here. I’ve started to write this newsletter any number of times in the last couple of months, but something always drags me away. Sitting here now, my working title still reads “April Newsletter” along the top of the page. I’m no longer surprised by time moving quickly. We may not be done with the pandemic, but gone are those weird endless days we experienced in 2020. What I have noticed, however, is this year feels particularly… full. Jam-packed, even. Along with my normal routine, I’ve found there’s a lot vying for my attention. On the writers’ front, we have the insane, escalating book bans, the numerous layoffs of journalists, and now the WGA strike for screenwriters. Then there’s the rise of AI, something I know I need to understand better, but for which I have very limited mental bandwidth and absolutely no time. Never mind tracking the broader political landscape and ramping up of the electoral cycle. (Didn’t we just do this?)