Having been fiddling with my new Residua website for weeks, I am getting frustrated at times. “Shit,” I hiss under my breath as I transfer a piece of writing to the new site or reformat it, “I could be writing, instead.” At times I get really furious about all this toil. Unproductive toil, that is. “And yet,” I remind myself every now and then, “all this work is rather like publishing, for I am my own publisher now.” Such words calm me down for a while. Turning a manuscript into a book is also unproductive toil, at least from a writer’s point of view, but he or she is still likely to perceive it as a worthwhile chore. The book beckons invitingly all the while. Turning a manuscript into a site is rather similar. The site ought to beckon, too. Be this as it may, such words do not comfort me for very long. “Shit,” I hiss under my breath at least once a day, “I could…”