I am writing a sequel to my Mr. Catt story and have reached the point when I despair of it being any good. That usually happens. I push through the despair and continue writing.
Aside from that project, I have to finish revising two almost done stories. And then move on the assembling two collections, one of Lydia Duluth stories and one of miscellaneous stories. I am trying to set up a schedule for writing. Otherwise I procrastinate.
Toward the end of her life Le Guin said she could no longer write fiction. She lacked the energy. I am trying to avoid getting to that point. Right now, the world looks pretty awful to me. Writing fiction is an escape.