My hubristic outburst along the lines of 'shan't write a thing until I've finished a novel na-na-na-na-naaaaaa!' has caused me a lot of grief. So much, in fact, that I'm amazed I haven't exploded - or should that be imploded ... or possiby both?
Anyway, I've given up on it. If I do, then I do. If I don't, then c'est la vie, or somesuch. Life's way too short not to write because I've been a tit. There I've admitted it: I'm a tit.
Let me commend to you www.fawm.org. Lots of fun, and remember that if you can't twang thump or wail: songs need lyrics - and writers write them!
Shock horror! I was tidying up my bedroom and I found a cobweb. Shocked to say the least, I was. Mainly because there were no spiders to be found. Lot's of spiders must have been partying, but narry a one in sight. Why? Where have they gone?
I have in excess of a few part finished short stories that I'm working on. Proud I am of this nugget, but I'll be prouder still when I actually finish one. Soon.
And that is that for the moment.