It seems like every time I sit down to write this Urban Fantasy novel, I wonder, is this the time when I'm going to run out of gas? Is it now that I will exhaust every idea I ever have and collapse in a lump failed dreams and forgotten hopes?
That came off a little more dramatic than I meant it. Let me dial it back a little. Hi there, hey, what's up? You're cool? I'm cool too. I fucking hate how stressful writing can be. Why did I choose this hobby? I could have gone with any number of safer/easier hobbies, but no. I had to choose fiction writing. Bacon damn it to hell.
Should I explain that joke? You look lost. Okay, my brother and I created a new inside joke. The idea is that you take a Word document of the bible and you find and replace every instance of God, the Holy Spirit and Jesus with Bacon, Bacon, and Bacon. This gave a whole new line of expletives. Bacon damn it. Bacon Christ. Holy mother of Bacon. You get the idea.
Obviously I'm feeling some apprehension over Lost Lamb. On one hand, I feel like it's going really well and that the story is developing nicely. But then there's this lurking fear that when it's finished, someone other than me and my trusted writing group has to see it. Or worse, no one will see it at all. Which has been the case with my novella. No one is reading it. Maybe it's the wrong season. Maybe it's the phases of the fucking moon--I don't know. But everyone says, "Oh Steve, I bought your book. Oh no, I haven't read it yet. Why? Oh I don't know, probably the phases of the fucking moon. I can't take two Bacon damn hours out of my Bacon damn day to do this thing for you because I want to know what stupid shit is happening on American Fucking Idol or Bacon damn Survivor or whatever stupid shit people watch these days."
This post went in a direction that I didn't want it to go, just so you don't think I'm crazy. Hopefully I'm not.
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