I contemplate a project, and I say “no, you can’t start work on it until X” – until you finish something else, until an editor buys it, until a Kickstarter hits 50% funded, at least.
And my brain goes pbbbttttthhtt, sez YOU.
And so I give you the opening lines of “Miles to Go.”
————————————-
My back hurt, my horns itched, and I was pretty sure that burrito for lunch had been a mistake.
“You’re bluffing,†I said.
“Danny, oh Danny.†The miserable fucker had the balls to smile at me. “You know I never bluff.â€
————————————
It’s like I can see Danny, sitting at his desk, cowboy boots up, eyes closed, contemplating whatever case he’s on, and then he opens his eyes and stares at me, and I know what he’s thinking. Â He’s thinking “Gilman, if you don’t get these stories written, I’m gonna haunt you forever.”
Dude, it’s not me.  I’m ready to go.  More than ready.  But with only 28 days left in the Kickstarter, and us only being 35% funded, I can’t promise anything.  You know that.  You knew this was a risk, and it may not pan out.
His eyes close again, and he takes off his baseball cap, runs his hands through his hair, and settles the cap back on. Â “It’ll work out. Â People said they wanted to read the stories, so they’ll come. Â They just may make you suffer a little, waiting. Â Use the time wisely – go finish the book you’re writing. Â I’ll wait. Â Right here.”
Haunting me?
“That’s the plan, yep.”
Bastard.
“You’re not wrong.”