So Why Aren't I Writing More?

Got no excuse for keeping the words inside. Yeah, I work hard. I start writing for work at 5:30 every morning. By the time I get home, it's usually 8:30 or 9 p.m. I eat, watch TV, waste time on the Internet (yes, you know what that means) and then crash. Then I do it all over again.

I've also been working the past few weekends too. For a guy in midlife crisis I still have something left in the tank.

But I need to be doing this shit too. I need to decide what happens to Audrey in the story. Does she get held for ransom by some Washington Heights dealers. Does she OD? Does she just disappear and leave our protagonist to the wreckage of his soul (yes, I'm quoting an old CK commercial!). Where is this story going to go? Only way to figure that out is to actually sit and focus.

And I will. I promise. I'm reaching that point. Doing this stupid little post before I go to bed is a good sign that I know what needs to be done. Of course, I'm also trying to date. Nothing much to report there yet, but maybe some news coming up. Social life is also fairly active for a workaholic who only moved back here four months ago. As I've said before, definitely glad I'm back and no regrets about leaving NYC.

OK. Going to bed but I'm thinking of you and the words and the story and life and love and hate and death and escape and everything that can be thrown at me that doesn't matter and the few things that do.

Rambler out!