It is a gray, depressing day, and I am struggling against the sense of futility that often lies in wait these days. “Look at you, fooling with a comic, as if there will be a world with comics in the future. Look at you, assembling book cases as if it matters.”

And like, even if the absolute worst comes to pass and the US slides fully into dictatorship, fighting fascism is not made easier by tripping over stacks of loose paperbacks. But the futility keeps hissing away in the background anyway.

Sometimes I write a character that’s wiser than I deserve, like the cook in SEVENTH BRIDE cooking biscuits & saying “Yes, everything is terrible and unfair, and yes I could sit down and cry with you for hours, but everything would still be terrible and we would have no biscuits.”

Trying to remember that. The world will not get better because I moped instead of assembling bookcases.