Can’t stop, gotta run, deadlines are eating me.

I’m dropping in long enough to say that I can’t stick around and chat. Deadlines are eating me.

I’m not complaining, mind you. Just stating a fact.

1. Deadlines mean I have, well, work to do. Work for which I hope someday to get paid.

2. Nothing breaks a streak of writer-angsty whining like blind panic. So, yay. Added benefit.

3. Apparently the “creative juice” people sometimes refer to is, in fact, adrenaline.

3a. My scientific-journal day job makes me wonder if someone shouldn’t do a study on that idea.

3b.  Also, how would such a study would be constructed?

I leave you to chat among yourselves about the answer to that question. See you on the flip side.

 

 

 

 

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