Cut Down On My Typing

A 1-post collection

My humblest of apologies...




Today’s story may well be my last.

Not for lack of prompts. I have lots of prompts.

Not for lack of sales. I would do this even if my own mother never purchased a story.

It’s nothing you did or omitted. I promise.

It’s this fucking wrist. I did some damage to myself [NEVER SLEEP WITH ELASTIC ‘SOCK’ BRACER/BANDAGES ON, KIDDIES!] and I need to take a break from writing.

If you need me, I shall be going quietly insane because writing fucking hurts and I can’t not write.

You can help by paying money for my books. Yay.

O… someone give me some good fucking news, today. I need it.


My right wrist is starting to ache, and I need it to do my day job.

I need my day job.

I still need to get X-rayed and ultra-sounded to find out what, exactly, has gone wrong this time. But I also need to minimise the driving I do.

Fun times.

As is typical for me, I am dragging my feet about making the appointment to get myself looked at. Sigh.

Beloved needs to be a little more pushy, methinks, about making me do the thing. Or to do the thing for me, no arguments.

I have hard bracers for both wrists, now. Juggling betwixt cutting off circulation and actual relief from pain.

Not writing is leading me into depression. Fun times.

I need some fucking good news.

Some good news, dear readers! I now have dictation software, so I can attempt to too write without writing. Obviously, I need to put in punctuation later… which is gonna be a pain in the keister, but I can deal.