I sat down to write about five different blogs early this morning, and don't have much more than a few paragraphs on any of them.
I'm so far behind on my writing, it's not funny.
I need to get to some magazine articles if I ever want to go legit.
I need be going over book 3 carefully, taking notes, because there is no legitimate reason why it shouldn't be done a year from now, save my own machinations and metabolism.
Actually, it should be fucking done well before then. It's basically done now, and has been for a couple of years now.
Things holding up it's progress -
Continuity.- I want the characters in my books to evolve. I want them to age, to grow and mature, to fight their demons. In my head they're living and breathing. In my head, they have lives. They're as real to me as the people I interact with everyday. More so than a lot of them.
But, the thing is, it's not just a matter of characters aging. The fall in and out of love. They lust. They hate. They fall on and off the wagon.
And I want them to all do these things in a way that is both realistic, yet entertaining. I need certain things to unfold in their own course.
My chaotic, jumbled, booze soaked mind.- I'm not nearly as drunk as I was a couple of years ago. Holy shit, I'm almost normal. At the time of this writing it's been several days since I even had a drink. You would think, this would clear my mind, let me slow down and focus, right? Fuck no, not for me.
I sat down to right a bit of satire, about one of the people I hate on Facebook, and instead, I'm writing a few paragraphs of a sci-fi story, based on this insane dream I just had, and the next I'm looking up recipes for prime rib, and wondering if I should wait until Sunday to try and make it. Next I'm taking apart my Blackberry to try to clean/ unfuck it, and then I'm really proud of myself until I put it back together and it's not unfucked.
At any one time, my mind is going through a newsreel of thoughts that might look something like this. -
I just know there's a place for a pistol gripped shotgun without a stock in the tactical toolbox.
Fucking shit ass, asshole Blackberry. Fuck you.
What time is it? Fuck, too late to go to the pool. It'll be filled with old people and I'll hit traffic coming back. Fucking shit.
Should I wait till Sunday to make prime rib? We could get a few days out of it.
Pistol gripped only shotguns are fucking stupid, you goddamn fat poser bitch.
Melissa Joan Hart is 36 today? I would still totally do her.
I need to go to the grocery store.
I need to call in my prescriptions.
I need to call in my grandmother's prescriptions.
I need to seriously start developing panels for the comic strip. That's a fucking gold mine there.
I need to learn to cook ribs.
I really kind of wish I had a Walther PPS.
I want another Glock.
I haven't taken Pops out to eat lately, maybe she'll be down with Tex- Mex.
I need to get Murphy his yearlies.
I want to drink. Thank God there's not enough vodka left to really matter.
No, don't think of the scotch, don't think of the scotch!
Whatever happened to Shyla Foxxx, anyway? She was my favorite.
A Ruger LCR might be the ultimate BUG.
I'm never going to hear from those magazine editors.
I'm never going to hear from my book editor.
I should go to the garage and swing kettlebells.
If I go to the garage and swing kettlebells, Murphy will throw a shit fit.
This new girl I met seems really nice.
More so than the last fifty.
Fuck, I hate college.
Fuck, I don't want to go back.
Fuck, I need to.
Maybe I'll sell the movie rights and get rich.
Which book should I concentrate on now?
Should I do the Jeb at war doing shady shit for the government book next?
Should I leave that a mystery? Unravel that slowly over the course of several books?
Should I work on my Great American Novel instead?
The western trilogy?
Bear's stand alone?
The Sc-fi novel?
The other Sc-fi novel?
I should totally work on the RomCom. That shit'll make me rich. Fucking women. They watch the worst shit, really.
Is it wrong to hope Obama gets reelected just so my conspiracy theory assassination book will be relevant whenever I get around to it?
Fuck, I can't believe I found a positive reason for Obama being president.
I need booze.
I need coffee.
I have to get my phone shit situated.
Jeanna Fine has been retired for how long? That's a bad bitch.
I watch too much porn.
Can someone watch too much porn?
Are there any chicks out there that are genuinely bi, that don't have fucked up hardwiring from sexual abuse as a child?
Is it just the chicks I meet?
Oh, look, THAT GUY is turning another thread on someone else's Facebook wall into his story about his crazy ex-wife. Again. Jesus. I'm starting to hate that guy.
I shouldn't hate him. He's nice enough. Just sad. And pathetic. No wonder she cheated.
Obviously she puts out. I wonder where she is?
I need to do some shotgun work.
Pistol gripped only.
See this list? That's all shit, in my head, vying for attention, each moment.
It's worse when I'm sober.
I had the thought earlier, maybe one of the reasons I started drinking so heavily, wasn't just self medication for pain, and then depression, but to slow my fucking brain down as well.
Fuck. Where were we again?