Either today or tomorrow is the anniversary of when I started keeping up the streak of writing at least a little every day. It doesn’t really matter which day it is, or how long. What matters is that I’m in the midst of sorting out a mound of verbiage that’s at least two novels worth of material. What matters is cracking the nuts of figuring which part is the story and which is the background. All my plans and little stories that I was working on have flown out the window because ever since I got serious about writing these books have been the story that won’t leave me alone. Considering some of the twisted evil in it, I’d rather not know why it won’t leave me alone. I just want to finish one solid piece of it.