Argh! Forgot to post last week, he realized with a disproportionate sense of annoyance.

Bo had been extremely busy the entire week since his last blog post and his mind was preoccupied as he had yet to come close to finishing his latest project. Truth was, he hated talking about himself and his life (or often lack thereof) anyway so it was an easy chore to forget. Right now, however, he had trouble figuring out why his present was being written about in the past tense. Cause you're an idiot, shaking his head. He didn't physically shake it, but rather, he beratingly shook his head in his own mind's eye.

He took a moment from writing to take his players on his mock draft: his real one was set to start in about an hour.

He checked his cellphone, a Samsung J7 that had a few hairline cracks on its screen and was starting to fail (a conspiracy by the cellphone manufacturer to force him into buying a new one; he was certain of it) for the temperature, knowing how important it was to set the scene for the reader, then plugged it in to recharge: he was heading out to his brother's later for a Labor Day BBQ and wanted to maintain a full battery until he left.
Seventy degrees, perfect end-of-summer day, windows open, two fans moving the air briskly through, enough daylight creeping in through the blinds that he didn't need to have the light on but he did anyway to maintain proper light balance when working. His main computer screen was a wide thirty-four-inch (a beautiful beast), his top screen (which was mainly to have two file explores open when he needed to bounce back and forth between files—something the Pangaea books required often for fact-checking between books and other files he kept on the story and such), and his left screen was for random stuff—internet searches, definition confirmations, and, of course, fantasy footfall mock drafts while he worked.

Besides his project, which had been keeping him very busy, he had a fantasy football draft the previous Saturday whose research had also taken up too much of his time. That, along with his project had caused him to forget (secretly gratefully) that Sunday's post. But there he was now, with an hour to kill and no excuses, so, disproportionately exasperated, he trudged onward.

Idiots! he had just been forced to take a defense in the 9th round and now people were taking kickers… He shook his head, this time, he realized, actually physically. It made him wonder how often he did that without noticing it.

Then he suddenly realized with a writer's unique sense of embarrassment that he had been rambling on and had yet to explain the project: Instagram.

Despite his early reservations- Dammit! Draft time already! If he had spent less time staring out the window at the weird empty bucket in his neighbor's yard and what manner of bugs it was likely housing, he might have finished this post in time…

Next week he promised himself he would write about the project and the following week, fer certain and fer sure—cross his fingers hope to die—the Chamber of Creation and Lilith novellas disasters.

Thanks for stopping by and have a great Labor Day weekend!