The creamer in my coffee is congealed and has left an unsightly ring around the middle of my Harry Potter mug. I have 42 unanswered emails and another 14 phone calls to return. The novel I am penning beckons like a toddler for immediate attention, and Sierra the Writer Dog begs for another Pumpkin Spice Milkbone. These are the menial efforts in my life that I describe as labor. So, do I really need Continue reading “Manic Monday Labor the Masses”