Dear readers,

You probably checked your emails to discover a story update: Road Trip. You probably sighed and muttered something like "Finally." You probably clicked the link, expecting to read the next chapter and get on with your day. You are probably skimming through this right now, thinking "When is he getting to the story?"

Later.

The past few months have been interesting to say the least. I got a job, lost a job, got another one, graduated high school, got a computer, fell in love, lost a pet, picked up a hobby, lost another one, made a friend, switched political parties (why didn't you listen?) and most importantly, at least to you guys, is lost the will to keep writing.

I know, I was busy though, I did start and complete another story entirely. What gives? No one cares about a lesbian assassin, where's the funny?

If you noticed my page I deleted two of my stories: Lightbulbs and Dragon. Not to make a point or get revenge, but for the simple reason that I have tasked myself with too many things. I had high hopes for both of them, specifically Dragon, but it came down to how I felt about them, and in the end they were both just going to end up like this, forgotten for months at a time.

When normal people read an inspiring work of fiction or hear a good song, they tend to think, "Wow, this is great. If I work hard and focus, I can write/play like this one day". And then they proceed to work hard and focus, and indeed they do come to write/play like that, and they're the ones we hear about on tv with their new book or album. When I however read an nspiring work of fiction (like Tom Siddell's Gunnerkrigg Court, check it out) or hear a good song (Rise Against's Savior) I find myself thinking "Yep, there's no way in hell I can write/play like that". And I resign myself to sitting on my ass and enjoying things that other people made. It's a dangerous mindset, and it forced me to push myself to be creative, to think that someday I could become good at it. That was until recently when the well dried up and I began to realize that writing isn't the hobby for me.

My problem tends to be that while I am alright at starting things, when I try to figure out how to end it I get worried. Instead I carry it on, past its expiration date, unable to land it gracefully. Much like The Simpsons.

This is not a letter of resignation, it's a letter of apology. I really am sorry about holding up for so long. For one reason or another, I am unwilling to simply sit down and finish the next chapter. It's rarely that I'm busy, just more that I no longer have the desire to do anything.

But it's the obligation to my readers that forces me to go on. I will finish Road Trip, maybe not sooner than later though.

As for the two stories I've killed, I don't know. If I find myself with the time and energy and willingness to revive them, I may do so. For now though, I think it's important that I give myself one thing to work on at a time, and that right now should be this.

Thank you for reading and understanding. It's probably unnecessary to apologize to the four people reading this, but it's probably more for me than anything,

With deepest regards,

Led Feynman M.D. D.d.s.