There are a lot of days I’m pretty sure I’m insane.
We homeschool (4 children ages 9-15). I’m writing book 10 in my self-pub werewolf series, and have recently sent in, and had accepted at Changeling Press, 2 short erotica stories under my *other* name.
There are drifts of fir needles at the base of every stair, and although all the laundry is *clean*, I wouldn’t go so far as to call it folded. Or put away.
My children are remarkable writers. They are mediocre mathematicians. They are astoundingly compassionate when it’s needed, and they manage not to kill each other the rest of the time. I think we’re doing okay.
But I still must be mad.