Speeding In Slow Motion

Excuse the primer coat on the walls, ignore the overgrown shrubbery out front, and ignore that leak dripping in the center of this virtual structure; despite the extravagant disrepair, there is and are good reasons for the dreadful conditions, despite any and all malfeasance.

In short: work has been kicking my ass, and more importantly, I've been working on a personal project for the better part of several months. Since it is fiction, the hard part about maintaining this space is finding a day when I am happily and efficiently productive in front of a keyboard but not able or willing to commit said efficient creativity to the fiction but to the HoB. It's an easy, but unfortunate, argument, one in which the HoB always comes up short.

It's not that this space hasn't, doesn't or won't continue to serve as a launch pad, a home away from home and/or a good place for me to share the basis for the firings of what few neural synapses I have left between my ears; the HoB will continue to thrive, and I'll be sure to clean up after I have guests and such. The problem is, however, that to finish my first draft is my chosen goal, and inasmuch as I truly enjoy spouting off herein about nearly everything that crosses my path, I'm almost completely focused on wrapping the first draft and seeing if I can meld everything into one tangible, comprehensive, understandable jumble of spies, guns, nuclear weaponry, technology, boobs and cars. No, it's not a James Bond novel; hence why I didn't use the term "gadgets" anywhere in the description.

In any case, I expect to be back here sometime soon, and I apologize yet again for this edificial malaise.

Or, as they say in Brooklyn, thanks for coming by and for being so patient.

-B-