Why is it so easy to crank out stuff here when I’m banging my head on the keyboard trying to figure out how to wrap up the adventures of two teenage sex toy merchants in mid-21st Century Irvine?

It’s not that I don’t love it. I can’t imagine doing anything else. And I know I can’t blame my muse; he could be down at the OBT, but, instead, he’s here at my desk whopping me upside the head and saying, “Ain’t you listenin to a woid I said?” I’m trying, dammit, I really am…

The goal was to finish three stories and submit one. I have one finished, polished, and out, and I’m working on this one, and I have a bunch of ideas for others. But I must wrap this one up first. I can do this. I will do this. Okay, you sonuvbitch, I’m listening