It seems that I have come up with a writing challenge for myself. This pounced upon me as I wove through the streets of Portland last night, walking home after my bar shift:
As I discovered upon the recent (and loooooong time coming) completion of the first draft of my first novel, I have a lot of shit I've started writing, yet haven't finished. Or, in some cases, continued beyond the kernel-of-the-idea phase.
Like drunken sex that carries on for far too many hours: It's time to finish. Well, I've heard of this phenomena. Sounds...horrible. Anywho...
I plan on burrowing through the sorted shorts/dangling longforms/stream of consciousness junk that I've pecked away at over the last years and will give myself a short deadline with which to complete it/them. Sounds like torture? Yeah, it freaks the hell out of me, but I believe setting up this exit ramp will help me get off the freeway in a more timely fashion. And in one piece.