Why so poor? It's not the time, although the fencing classes -- including attempts to improve their organisation -- and working on two conventions don't help, I know that I'd claim lunchtimes to pound out some more words if I could.
The problem is typing. These days, I'm just about getting through the working days, and I spend the evenings rubbing forearms and thinking dubious thoughts about my wrists. This post is about the amount I can write at a time, without having to stop and flex fingers, etc. Another novel? Way too much of a commitment.
Still, there is a plan: I do intend to get something done, something finished, by mid-February. And then I'm going to dig out the novels and see if I can do some editing. If nothing else, I need the exercise - it's a muscle that's not getting used, and it's wasting away terribly.
 I don't mean that Iain's been nagging me. More that I see Iain more often, and think: damn, I should be doing more of that too.