So faithful readers of this blog (the treasured few of you out there) might recall me mentioning a certain charity anthology project that I’ve been working on. Or you might not recall; it’s no biggie–it’s not like I talked about it a lot. But I digress.
Last night I made the decision to leave the project, despite having written over twelve pieces for it in the nearly two years since I joined it. Two years and a dozen pieces of flash fiction, short stories, and poems…all gone now.
I couldn’t do it anymore. The organizer, well-intentioned though he may have been, was horribly disorganized. He couldn’t keep his own self-imposed deadlines (let alone any he might set for the group), and he would go weeks, even months, at a time without any news or updates–without any posts at all, really, to let the group know how well or how poorly things were going…or not going.
Do I feel bad about leaving them with one less author? Not really. To the ones who stay with the project, I say bully for you on hanging in there despite zero actual progress and little to no direction. To the one or more people who might jump ship after they’ve seen that I’ve left, I say good show. You were on the fence, and maybe this will push you to the other side where you can have your freedom once again.
I don’t wish them ill; I actually hope the project can become what the coordinator wishes it to be. I just don’t think that hope will hold long enough to make it reality.