I have all these ideas and projects juggling for space in my brain. For me, it’s as if I’m an object in an auction. These projects yell out prices numbers, word’s written really, and new ideas just spill out with those numbers.
And then there are the demands for my attention. The agent that suggest changes and said send a project around again. (My personal top priority here.) But everything else keeps screaming write, work, finish me.
And yet, they are never quite finished. “You can make me better,” they say, “stronger,” they say. It is like the old bionic man series, except they’re bionic books.
What can I do but enlist old Voltaire’s “Le mieux est l’ennemi du bien,” or “The best is the enemy of the good.” Finish it. Get it out. Write something else that teaches me more about myself and my human experience.