So Many Questions

Howdy. Hello. Heya. What’s up? What’s happening. It’s a new day. The sun shines, birds sing, flowers bloom. The pandemic is gone. Hold up. Wait a second. That can’t be right. *checks calendar. checks new calendar* Shit. Fuck. Shitfuck. Fuckshit. It’s only, yikes, January. Wrong month. My bad. That’s totally on me. Well, flowers will bloom and where I live, birds are signing. And the sun shines. And fuck it, the flowers, they are’a bloomin’.

But the pandemic… Err, well… Yeah.

2020 was so, uhhhhhh, 2020. It didn’t even make the meh level.

That’s in the rearview. In fact, I’m sure we backed over it on the way out the garage and rolled over it a few more times, smiling, just to hear the crunch. Now, it’s 2021, damnit. And fuck, the first five days were wonderful.

And that’s enough of the rolling of the years.

What’s on the writing docket? Where shall we go from here? What’s around that famous corner we heard so much about back in, well, August, September, a lot lot lot in October, again in November, and uhhh, just a little in December? What are your writing goals? Do you set writing goals? What will you finish this year?

What am I working on, you ask? Well, *bats eyelashes* first, thanks for asking. I’m working on finishing 7 Sins (working title, rest TBD). And I’ve been working on it for… Fuck. Well… Holy sharkshit. Uhhhh… No way?! About… Are you fucking kidding me?! Too goddamn long.

But, alas, I think it shall be completed by year’s end and then it’s – fun times – queryville. So yeah, full title shall be creatively thought out by then.

But hey, back to you. If you write, surely you’ve heard the so-called Writer Commandments?

There’s lists…errr, commandments somewhere. Everywhere, really. And they change from writer to writer, just depends on who writes them. I know, doesn’t make sense to me either. You’re asking how can writing commandments change? Weren’t they set in cement or some strange shit like that? Isn’t it impossible to change cement words?

Didn’t some dude named Ken Kenobi walk through a fjord with a whittled down makiwara stick and hide from dragons while getting these writerly commandments from some booming voice – who it’s said sounded a lot like Samuel L. Jackson? And then form two triangular stones from bags of Quikrete and chisel words into them with a Leatherman? Wait-wait-wait. WAIT. That doesn’t sound… *checks sacred notes scroll* No-yeah, that’s right.

Enough of the truthful and factual way these commandments came together. I’m not here to guilt you with fictional words. This isn’t catholic school. I need only point out a lonesome commandment. It’s vastly overlooked, and most times, downright ignored.


What motivates? What are your limits? Are you as creative as a wad of goobersnot? Are you lazy as a bullfrog on a scorching summer day? Does the thought of writing make your brain hurt. Do you have a brain to hurt? Do you tweet-timeline-InstaEverything-AmaShop-pandem-doom scroll until you’re fingerprints hurt?

Here’s an example for me: I woke the other day and noticed the ottoman was about four feet removed from the ergo recliner. Granted, I don’t use that chair much but for the footrest to be that far away seems a stretch, literally. My feet wouldn’t reach. So, I sat across from both on my couch and pondered why such a length was present. Did I do this? If so, why? If I did this obvious irrationality, what strange reverse gravitational pull prevented me from putting it back? Was I really this fucking lazy? Instead of getting up and pushing them together, I pondered more. Was I cleaning and moved it to dust or vacuum? Hahahaha. I don’t do those things. Do I have strange events taking place inside my house when I’m asleep? If so, does that explain why my bourbon is always gone?

Hmmmmm. I’m beginning to understand why 7 Sins sits, incomplete and laughing at me.


Are you a here, there, everywhere type who can write in a pouch, under a couch, or on the steps while you slouch? Maybe you are, maybe you’re not. Maybe when you write your pen just makes a dot. Fret none, get your writing done, and stare not at the sun.

Only you know you.

Go forth and make words happen.

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