I have had no time to devote to my pursuit of an agent or publishing. I have a new grand son. He is completely beautiful. I have been trying to be an artist who can sell paintings. I have sold some, they are little pieces for little pennies. My mind is pursuing outlines of my writing projects I have yet to write. I sort and catalog my ideas but still I merely run in place. Belief in my story gets chiseled away. Thoughts like, well maybe you just suck at writing like your sucky stupid paintings. Are my feet standing on solid ground believing anyone would give a s---t about my little novel? Does anyone hear? Hello? Is there anybody in there?