Day Twenty-Eight and the Three More Days

Three more days.

And just like every year I do this 30 day challenge, I fall short.  Short of everything I wanted to write, and short of all the things that have been crowding my heart and mind for the previous year, stored up in such a way that, when the time came to let it all out, it got jammed up inside me like the dryer lint that gets stuck underneath your filter.  A lint clog that, if left uncollected, could… at least according to the manufacturer, TikTok, and all the urban legends… burn your whole house down.

Then again, the stuff I wanted to write this November probably could’ve burned my whole house down, all by itself, if it hadn’t gotten stuck somewhere along the way to all your glowy screens.

So instead, I burn, on the inside.

I guess that means there’s more writing for me to do.

So instead of me curling up into a tightly-packed December ball, and covering my head until that next burst of creative energy shows itself sometime after the first of the year, when THIS December hits, my words will be ready to hit back.  Plans are being made, and not just plans like laundry, or regular grooming and hygiene.  I mean plans like “finish the damn book” and “start the next damn book”, along with “find me a publisher for BOTH damn books”.  Plus, with the 2023 advent of my age-62-and-over, government cheese budget, let’s add “schedule the damn world tour with a suitcase full of the damn books” to go along with all the rest of it.

And this is your heads-up for what, besides laundry and hygiene, looks to be a busy year for me, including the usually underperforming month of December, just three days away.  This gives me two more days with you before I lock the doors and draw the blinds, and knock out more words than the first of any year has held for me before. 

Until right now.

Updates will be here on the blog, and all over the connected socials, when I know more. 

Talk to you tomorrow.