I’ve been in a race against time for the past few weeks, which culminated this past weekend. Since I came back from the awesome Oklahoma fest last week (a full account of that fun adventure coming soon), I’ve been writing with little respite around classes, Dolores-related final post-prod (an account of our fab final sound mix session also forthcoming) and other obligations. I didn’t really start to panic until Saturday afternoon. I realized I had less than 48 hours left to meet my big deadline with far too much still left to accomplish. What followed now feels like an abyss, a lost weekend, and an adventure wrapped in one – when the writer becomes the writing. I got so engrossed, I lost track of what was real and wasn’t. I have to admit, I rather liked it.
Much has happened the past few weeks and I can hardly believe how freakin’ fast this summer has flown by. But it’s a wonderful rush. I appreciate the kind e-mails of concern asking if I’ve fallen off the face of the earth. It’s possible, I suppose. I’m hardly in the position to judge such matters in my current mildly delirious state. Rest assured, if I have fallen off, it’s a nice place I’ve landed.
So, my apologies for neglected calls, e-mails and my failure to be a contributing member of society of late. 
I have, as of 10am this morning, risen from the deadline as it were. I am once again back among the “non-fictional” once more, though the Sirens’ call of fantasyland is sure to beckon again soon. Such is the fate of the writer and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
That said, a few of us have been pondering a Dorothy Parker-esque roundtable. If you find you are afflicted with some of the same symptoms as described above, let me know. We might just have the support group for you…