The I need to post more often post.

I was doing so well for a while. Posting almost every day, sometimes there was even content other people might care about and not just me talking to myself. Which, I do like doing a little too much. I’m beginning to believe it’s a writer thing, or maybe just hoping it’s not a crazy thing. I’m pretty sure it’s not a crazy thing. I don’t hallucinate and I limit my drug intake to painkillers, caffeine and, on occasion, ethanol.

So, writer thing. Okay. Awesome. I like this plan.

Speaking of plans. I finished the novel the other day. I waded through the mires of post novel mental goo by playing a lot of Bioshock 2 and have come out the other side ready to create something new.

Step one, kill the fruit fly that decided to make my desk is base of operations. It is starting to annoy me more than I thought a small fly could. There’s dead fruit in the kitchen. Go that way. Leave me alone!

Step two, once I’ve cleaned the speck of blood off my hand, is to flesh out one of the short stories I edited earlier. It needs more. The ending was rushed. It’ll be fixed.

From there, continue my not quite so fruitful job search. Work on the bazillion other projects I want to get done and find something to put on the wall on the other side of the room. I turn around a lot and I want something to look at other than the green wall. Not that the paint color isn’t awesome. I like the color. I should. I picked it. But, I like to look at bright, creative things while I’m working. Or, at least something to break the monotony.

The other thing I’ve been working on is cleaning the office up. In the process I hung some plot maps up for stories that need to be finished. I had a finishing problem a few years back. I started all sorts of projects an never finished them. They’re good ideas, solid beginnings that need more with them to make them shine. Stories that need homes. That might be a good title for a short story collection. I’m keeping it. It’s mine.

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