|You know those bandits got all the booty.|
Sometimes, I struggle to produce a story that I really love. The vultures, in short, get me. But there are times when there is literally no stopping the flow of water: the nectar of the gods is literally pouring all over you. You might even want to throw your hands to the sky and say, "Stop, gods! That's enough nectar. I don't need any more of your filthy nectar. I have enough." And that is the case with me presently. This past week, I've been killing this new novel I'm writing. I mean, it is so dead, which really means it is living and thriving within me (due, again, to an overabundance of divine nectar). I've pounded out about 15,000 words, roughly the last four chapters, and the future is bright. Although I already know that this isn't going to be some kind of masterpiece, I'm certain of something: this novel will see fruition. It will be chopped into synopses and fifty-page samples, and it will be fired off to literary agents and editors alike. King Graham will rescue his family from the evil sorcerer and we can all go play King's Quest VI when it comes out on CD.
All this is to say that I might not be blogging quite as much the next few weeks. I'll be wandering around the desert from oasis to oasis instead. This blog is, as it were, like the dead man's boot: yes, you can hurl it at the cat later to save the mouse, and the mouse will gnaw the chains that bind you in the tavern's cellar; but you may also hurl the stick at the cat, and the same effects will ensue.
...although, there's something about the boot and the stick I forget. Oh, right, that's it: you're supposed to save the boot and give it to the cobbler. Is that right? Oh, man, this metaphor is going down the tubes...
BONUS POINTS: Make a King's Quest V reference in your comments for my respect and admiration!
REQUEST FOR FRIENDLY ADVICE: Did that metaphor get a little too... you know... weird at the end?