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,Â until a Kickstarter hits 50% funded, at least.
And my brain goesÂ 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.
â€œYouâ€™re bluffing,â€ I said.
â€œDanny, oh Danny.â€ The miserable fucker had the balls to smile at me. â€œYou 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. Â I’m ready to go. Â More than ready. Â ButÂ with only 28 days left in the Kickstarter, and us only being 35% funded,Â I can’t promise anything. Â You know that. Â 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.”
“That’s the plan, yep.”
“You’re not wrong.”